


House and Honor

by dornessiti



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Braime - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Gendrya - Freeform, JAIME LANNISTER IS A WHOLE DUMBASS AND I SUPPORT HIM, Jonmund, M/M, possibly first time i havent decided yet, sanrion - Freeform, these two are going to be the death of me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornessiti/pseuds/dornessiti
Summary: the Pride and Prejudice (2005) braime fic we all needed"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I took a whole lot of liberties be prepared now and I also totally forgot Robb exists I'M SO SORRY

_It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife._

Brienne marches through a field of tall meadow grass, paying no attention to the fresh mud now clinging to the hem of her dress. Why should her brothers not have to worry about dirtying up their clothes simply because they’re boys? She runs a hand through her short, straw-colored hair and tries not to think of the scolding she’s sure to receive once she returns home. It had been bad enough that the dress in question had been sewn several inches too short for her tall frame, but she had also managed to tear a very large, very noticeable hole just down her right side during sparring practice this morning. It wouldn’t have been a problem if that stupid boy from down the road had just been more careful with his sword, they _are _blunted for gods sake, but there’s no fixing it now. Taking a deep breath for courage, Brienne pulls herself over the wall surrounding their manor and tries to slip in unnoticed through the servants hall.__

__“Have you heard that Cerwyn Park is once again occupied?” Catelyn Stark asks in a calculating tone. Brienne freezes in place, heart thundering in her ears before she realizes her adopted mother’s voice is coming through an open window._ _

__“I have no doubt you’ll tell me who by.” Ned teases._ _

__She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to laugh in relief. If her parents are both in the library then they aren’t very likely to find her stumbling home just after dawn covered head-to-toe in grass stains and bruises. As long as she stops looking like a frightened doe and keeps moving, that is. She shakes her head and rushes inside, turning a corner quickly and nearly tripping over two huddled figures in the process._ _

__“Quiet, they’ll hear us.” Bran whispers from his spot on the floor._ _

__Sansa pulls her down by the hand to where they crouch listening outside the library door. “Oh, can you believe it, Brienne? Some Baratheon from Westeros arrived in the North just this week!”_ _

__“They say he makes five thousand gold dragons a year, though I’m not sure I believe it.” Bran says._ _

__Arya comes down the corridor and tries to cover up a laugh at the sight of them. “Oh Gods, what is it now?”_ _

__“And he’s single!” Sansa adds._ _

__“Who is?” Arya demands but is hushed by the rest of them as they hear mother crossing the room._ _

__“What a good opportunity this is for the girls.” Catelyn says decidedly._ _

__“And how will it affect them?”_ _

__“Don’t be tiresome, Ned, you know he must marry one of them!”_ _

__“Ah, so that’s why he’s left the comfort of the South to join us in Winterfell then?” Ned says with amusement, opening the door to greet his childrens abashed faces. “Oh look, people.” He chuckles and walks through them towards the drawing room, Catelyn quick on his heels._ _

__“You must go visit him.” His wife insists._ _

__They follow father like a pack of wolves, no longer bothering to hide their interest in the subject. Once all six of them have poured into the large, brightly painted drawing room, Bran gravitates towards where Jon is practicing piano, never taking eyes off the rest of the group for fear of missing any news._ _

__“Oh yes, father, you must go visit him!” Sansa cries._ _

__“There’s no need to bother, I already have.” The broken notes from Jon’s music stops in the following silence, all eyes turning to stare at Ned Stark’s pleased grin._ _

__“You have?” Catelyn asks in surprise._ _

__“When?” Arya adds._ _

__“I swear you’re teasing has taken at least 10 years off my life, Ned.” Their mother says crossly. “Is he...Is he kind at least?”_ _

__“Is he handsome?” Bran shouts from across the room, earning a laugh from his sisters._ _

__“Of course he’s handsome!” Sansa insists._ _

__“With five thousand gold dragons a year it wouldn’t matter if he had greyscale and a hollow hand.” Brienne says with a snort. Catelyn shoots her stern look and she drops her gaze to the ground, very suddenly reminded of the state of her dress._ _

__“I would give my blessing if he wished to marry any of my daughters.” Ned assures them all._ _

__“So will he be coming to the ball tomorrow?” Sansa asks with a sweet, hopeful expression clear on her face._ _

__He pauses, clearly enjoying tormenting them all, and makes them wait as he pours himself a glass of wine from the table and raises it to his lips. “...I do believe so.” Sansa squeals in excitement and rushes to hug him, nearly sending his drink flying in the process. He laughs heartily and ruffles her soft, red hair with his free hand. “And what of you, Jon? Will you be joining us tomorrow evening?”_ _

__“If it won’t interfere with my trainin' in the mornin' I’d be happy to come. Uncle Benjen would have my head if I gave up a day just for a party.” Jon flashes Brienne a quick smile, knowing all too well what it would mean for her if she missed any of her secret sparring lessons. It’s hard enough to convince boys from town to practice with her in the early mornings, but their uncle staying an extra hour after his time with Jon is the most precious part of her week. Some nights she lies awake wondering just how it would feel to fight, to _really_ fight. The sound of metal clashing, the sweat dripping from her brow. Uncle Benjen says she’s already a better fighter than half of the men in his regiment, not that she will ever be able to find out. If their mother catches her with a sword again, she will never have another chance to hold one in this lifetime. _ _

__She will just have to be careful not to get caught._ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Barely tolerable."

It has been an exceptionally warm summer for Winterfell and already the air inside the assembly room seems thick from all of the people gathered inside. Farmers and squires and even those with a title, however small, have come from all over the North to celebrate the successful planting of crops this year. 

“Mother, I can’t breathe it’s so tight!” Sansa fusses, tugging on her dress to try and loosen it up. Catelyn brushes away her hands and makes to straighten the laces when Bran pulls on her sleeve.

“I think these shoes are small.” He complains.

Arya and Brienne stand together apart from their family, taking in all the lights and sound. The shorter girl had been convinced to wear the nicer of her gowns; a dress of woodsy green material that compliments her cold Stark features nicely, even with the bored look on her face. Someone had even managed to braid her rich brown hair into something presentable, a trait that usually only Sansa seemed to possess. Brienne, on the other hand, feels miserable. Though at least this gown fits properly, the ugly shade of pink clashes against her sickly pale skin. And there was absolutely nothing that could be done about her hair, especially not after she had cut it as short as Jon’s a few moons ago, much to mother’s dismay. 

“If every man in this room doesn’t fall in love with you by the end of tonight, then they’re all fools- even with my trouble judging beauty.” 

“Or with judging men.” Arya teases.

“Oh, I find it very easy to judge them actually.” Brienne laughs loudly, revealing her slightly crooked teeth. 

“They’re not all bad...only most of them.” Arya grins. 

“Complete idiots only thinking with what’s between their legs, in my limited experience.”

“One of these days, Brienne, someone’s going to catch your eye and I'll have to make sure I’m there to defend your honor when it happens.”

“I can defend my own honor just fine, thank you very much.” Brienne suddenly falls very quiet, unable to hide her stare. 

The buzzing of noise dies down until all that’s left is whispers, snatches of excited conversation rippling through the room at the entrance of this new group. Four people, all dressed immaculately, stand still at the front of the hall. The first gentleman has dark, short hair and eyes the color of the sky after a storm. He seems to be the only one happy to be here, a pleasant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The older man next to him, however, seems to carry an air of superiority about him. Brienne almost wants to admit he’s earned it looking like that; with shining golden hair just like a prince from a story book and eyes like stolen pieces of emerald. The same eyes that have now landed on Brienne’s towering form. Her skin suddenly feels much too hot and she quickly turns back to her sister in embarrassment. Unfortunately, Arya catches the exchange and raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Perhaps I’ll get to defend you after all.” She says slyly. 

The local people continue to stare, especially at the only woman in their party. Whoever she is, she must be related to the green-eyed gentleman, for she has the same beautiful golden locks and brilliant shade of eyes. The only real difference between the two- not including her very fashionable gown- seems to be the distaste that is painted clear on her face as she takes in the people of the room. Just to her right is a man that Brienne had at first thought was a child. Only coming up to her waist, he too has the same coloring as the twins, though she had never met anyone grown who stood quite so short. He seemed wholly detached from the whole event and was the first of his group to move further into the room, if only to grab a glass of wine from a passing servant. 

After that, the silence is broken. Young couples once again join each other on the dance floor and the music strikes up almost as quickly as it had stopped. She makes to grab Arya’s hand and guide her away but the younger girl refuses to budge. Brienne follows the path of the young girl's gaze and sees to her surprise that the dark haired man is openly staring at her sister, a dazed expression on his face. She bites down a laugh and turns away, weaving through the crowded room until she spots a familiar face.

“Osha!” She calls happily. Her dear friend whirls around at the sound of her name and quickly makes her way over. 

“Oh Brienne, I’m so glad you’re here! If I had to spend another minute with any of these painted peacocks I thought I might die of boredom!” Osha links their arms and together they move to the edge of the room. 

“Speaking of painted peacocks, which of these is our Mr. Baratheon?”

“He is that one with the brown hair over there dancing with your Arya.” She points with a smile to the couple taking up the center of the room and- so he is. Arya almost never danced. Brienne mentally reasoned that of course she knew how, they all had to take the lessons at mother's insistence, but Arya had always sworn that she would never dance with a man unless absolutely necessary. 

It seems she must have found it absolutely necessary.

“And the man with the disagreeable expression?” Brienne asks, carefully avoiding looking directly at him for fear of being caught again.

“That’s Jaime Lannister, Gendry Baratheon’s closest friend.” 

Brienne steals a quick glance at Jaime, drinking in the sharp lines of his face and the sour expression that- sadly- isn’t enough to spoil his perfect features. “Poor soul.”

“I wouldn’t say so. He makes ten thousand a year and still owns half of Casterly Rock.” Osha informs her eagerly. “His brother and sister are here as well; Cersei, the pretty one, and Tyrion, the short one.” 

~~~~~

“Mr. Baratheon, you already know my eldest daughter, Osha. This is Mrs. Stark, Miss Arya Stark, and Brienne Stark.” Ser Rodrik motions to each of them in turn. 

“It is an honor, I do have three others but they are already dancing.” Catelyn explains politely. 

“Delighted to meet you.” Gendry says with a small bow of the head. 

“And may I introduce Mr. Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock, Westeros.” He gestures as a way of finishing the introductions before taking Catelyn’s hand and guiding her back towards the dance floor. Jaime gives a stiff bow and Brienne attempts a weak smile in return, causing an almost predatory light to spark in those bright green eyes of his. As he opens his mouth to say something, she quickly turns back to his friend in panic. “How are you fairing this far North, Mr. Baratheon?” 

“Uh...right-yes, very much.” He smiles shyly at Arya, who struggles not to look too fond. 

“The practice yards in Cerwyn Park, I’ve heard, produce some of the finest swordsmen in Westeros.” Brienne offers. 

“I’m afraid I spend more time in the smithy than I do anywhere else.” He shrugs guiltily. “I-I do know how to wield a sword that is! I just prefer making the weapons themselves and-”

“The practice yards at Casterly Rock are astonishingly good, aren’t they Jaime?” Cersei Lannister asks as she joins their circle, deep red skirts trailing behind her as vibrant as blood against the snow. 

“We can’t take all the credit for that, sister, though I definitely do my part in training the boys that arrive each year.” He tosses her an familiar, arrogant grin.

“I’m allowed to spar with my brothers sometimes- not often or else it would hurt their pride to be beaten so quickly.” Arya tells them, winning a laugh from Gendry. “Though Brienne could beat all of us with her eyes closed.”

Brienne could strangle her if there weren’t so many witnesses. Now all eyes are on her and it feels as if she might just be sick. 

“You wield a sword, Miss Stark?” Jaime asks curiously, as if suddenly hearing a very wonderful joke. “I should very much like to see that.”

“Don’t mind him, he’s just worried you’d knock him on his back.” Gendry assures her. 

“Being taller than all of the men in attendance must certainly come with it’s benefits.” Cersei says, pointedly looking Brienne up and down. 

“ _Cersei_.” Jaime warns. 

“Y-Yes, well- I apologize but I am needed elsewhere, it was lovely meeting you all.” Brienne curtseys clumsily and makes an escape without waiting for another word. 

~~~~~

Brienne prays to the gods for this dance to end soon. Osha had found her heading outside in an attempt to walk home before convincing her to come and hide away under the raised dance hall seats instead. Now on her third glass of wine, things don’t seem quite as bad as they had earlier, but the memory of Cersei Lannister’s pinched face still floats in the back of her mind. 

“Oh look, peacocks!” Osha whispers with a smirk, pointing towards two familiar figures. Brienne snorts and covers her mouth to keep from drawing attention to their hiding spot. 

“Come Jaime, you must dance! You know I hate it when you stand around looking all puffed up, every bit your father’s son.” Gendry teases and dodges a hit to the side.

“Careful, Baratheon. Besides, who am I supposed to dance with? The goats behind this lovely village hut we’re standing in? You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room, and even she is a bit short and angry for my taste." Jaime scrunches up his face playfully. 

Gendry knocks his shoulder against his friends in gentle warning, trying to hide his grin. "Oh, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever met, Jaime. But her sister, the tall one, she's...agreeable, wouldn't you say?" 

"The wench is not enough to tempt me, even if she could take you or I in a fight." He smirks. "I'd say she's barely tolerable for polite company as it is."

Any amusement she may have had at their conversation immediately ends, hot tears prickling behind her eyes. Osha moves to take her hand in comfort but she waves her away and manages a watery smile. Why should she care what some strutting, presumptuous Lannister thinks of her? Besides, she knows far better than to let men like him win. 

“Ignore him Brienne, he’s so horrible it would be a misfortune to be liked by him.” Osha insists.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dance with him for half of Casterly Rock.”

~~~~~

“Your friend Miss Cassel is a very witty young woman.” Gendry tells Brienne from where they stand together joined by Arya, Jaime, and her mother.

“Yes, It’s a pity she’s not prettier.” Catelyn replies sympathetically. 

“Mother!” Arya shouts. 

“Of course, my Arya and Sansa are considered the beauties of Winterfell.” Mrs. Stark adds.

“Oh mother, please!” Brienne can feel her face grow hot once more. 

“I don’t mean anything about you, dear, but when Sansa was just thirteen she had a gentleman who I thought for sure would propose. However, he did write her some very pretty verses.” 

“And so ended their time together. I wonder who first discovered how easily poetry drives away love?” Brienne interjects impatiently. 

“Ah- and here I thought women loved poetry.” Jaime says with a half smile. 

“If it is a true love maybe, but if it is just the flicker of interest, I’m convinced one good verse would kill it on the spot.” She replies hotly. 

“So what would you recommend then?” He asks with something that could almost be called interest making its way into his voice. 

“Oh dancing, Mr. Lannister. Even if ones partner is barely tolerable.” Brienne gives him a dazzling smile, secretly pleased to watch the color drain from his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night chats with the gals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY THIS ONE'S SHORT I had orientation at today and I did NOT have time to start the next scene, hopefully by monday i'll have a longer one up!

The rest of the household has been asleep for quite some time now, but here in the bed they share, Arya and Brienne are wide awake, trading secrets and hopes with only the shadows there to listen. 

“Mr. Baratheon... _Gendry_. He’s very funny, isn’t he? I didn’t know proper men were allowed to be funny, really.” Arya admits in a hushed voice, staring intently at the exposed wooden beams of the ceiling. 

“I don’t think he’s entirely proper, he’s much too kind.” Brienne whispers back. “And it helps that he’s handsome, and conveniently rich-”

“You know I don’t care about any of those things! It's just- Well I've always thought mother would have married me off by now to some old man with loads of land and hair as grey as Luwin’s.” She frowns.

“I’m just as surprised as you that we three have managed to escape the claws of matrimony for so long. If it was up to father, we would all die as maids...not that I would complain.” 

Arya rolls over with a huff, quietly searching her sister’s face for what feels like forever. It has always been like this, ever since they were children. Sometimes Brienne or Sansa (or even Jon just that once) would say something, and no matter how small it would seem at the time, Arya always has a way of finding hidden things in the lines of their faces. Bran never has anything hidden on his face, he’s too busy telling anyone who will listen about anything and everything that crosses his mind. “Do you really think he likes me, Brienne?” She eventually asks. 

“Arya, he danced with you for most of the night. Which- on another note- is the first time I think I've ever seen you smile while dancing.” Brienne mentions pointedly, noticing the warmth settling deep in her stomach at the memory of seeing her sister so happy. 

“ _Perhaps_ I simply wished to make friends with the man.” 

“Oh yes, because you do so enjoy making friends!” 

“I do! I’m sorry I'm not some folk hero like you; throwing apples at mean boys and chasing down runaway horses from the moment you could walk.” She teases, leaving Brienne to bury her face into her pillow to muffle the sounds of her snorting laughter. “I’m serious! I can win over a few hearts of my own you know...except for those who are especially horrible, like that friend of Gendry’s. I still cannot believe what he said about you.” 

Brienne rolls her eyes into the dark at the memory. “Jamie Lannister? The lack of honor that man has isn’t worth making a fuss over, especially since I doubt we shall ever speak again.” And with that, she rolls over and shuts her eyes. 

~~~~~

Her dreams are syrupy and comfortable, like lying on warm grass in the summertime. It begins in the woods just beyond the manor, endless miles of beautiful white trees and only the sound of leaves crunching beneath her feet as she moves deeper and deeper towards the center of this place. She isn’t frightened- what is there to be frightened of? There is nothing here but Brienne; alone with this gentle beauty her mind has conjured. 

Except there is a second footfall, she realizes after walking for a little while longer. She hadn't noticed at first but now as she’s almost reached the heart tree, she can't imagine how she missed it before. It’s only once she breaks through to the clearing surrounding the largest of the weirwoods that she can turn and face her companion.

“Hello, Wench.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Brienne fights a tree and Arya catches a cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I don't update on a super tight schedule, I try to post every few days but my life's a mess and my grammar is worse- enjoy!

Brienne wakes with a gasp, nightshirt sticking to the fresh layer of sweat on her skin. Trying to ignore the painful pounding in her chest, she desperately tries to recall the exact details of the dream, yet the harder she tries to focus on it, the faster it all seems to slip away.

_Green eyes._

No. She shakes her head, now very eager to forget, and climbs out of bed. It’s only because they brought up that vile man’s name the night before, and really, if she let herself dream of all the men who have wronged her in the past, she would never have time to be awake. 

Sighing at the grey thought, she finishes getting dressed and makes her way to the dining room where the rest of her family is already finishing up breakfast. 

“-And then he danced the third with Miss Osha. Poor lass, it’s a shame she isn’t more beautiful. The fourth with one of the Frey girls of little standing and the fifth again with Arya.” Catelyn describes the ball with the face of someone who knows they’ve already won.

“Jon, be a good lad and pass me the butter.” Ned asks his eldest son kindly without looking up from his plate.

“When you die, Ned- which could very well be soon- the manor goes straight to your cousin, though I still can’t figure out how that animal convinced your father to make him next in line. The girls will be penniless and without a home to their name!” 

“Oh, mother, please, it’s ten in the morning.” Brienne pleads while piling a plate high with buttered rolls and cold dinner ham. Bran giggles from across the table, though it earns him a stern look from both parents, and she slides him an extra pastry with a conspiratorial wink once their attentions are turned. 

Thankfully, Luwin enters the room and saves them from any more reprimanding. “A scroll addressed to Miss Stark from Cerwyn Park.” 

“Thank the Gods! We are saved.” Catelyn lifts her eyes to the heavens before leaving her chair and accepting the tightly rolled piece of parchment with a small bow of her head in thanks. Luwin returns the gesture politely and leaves them once more, though mother hardly notices in the hurry she makes to have Arya break the seal. “Go on then, dear.”

“It is from Miss Cersei...she has invited me to dine with her!” She pauses with a small frown. “...Mr. Baratheon and her brothers will be dining out.”

“How unfortunate.” Catelyn takes the scroll and rereads it with a thoughtful expression. 

“I didn’t think he was that handsome anyway.” Sansa offers helpfully. 

“Can I take the carriage, Mother?” Arya asks. 

“Don’t be foolish, you will go to Cerwyn on horseback.” 

“You will send her on horseback?” Brienne turns pleading eyes on father but he studiously avoids her gaze, as does Jon when she tries him next. 

“Yes, my love. Horseback.” And with a secretive smile, Catelyn Stark is off to pack.

~~~~~

Thunder rumbles in the distance, distracting Brienne from her current training against a most formidable opponent- an ancient weirwood just off the road towards town. She had just barely managed to slip away from home without anyone asking too many questions, and only because she assured them she simply wished to see Arya off on her trip. And she had done so! 

Only now there is no hurry to head straight home. She hates the idea of giving up a chance to practice- not that this poor tree offers much in the way of a sparring partner. There’s no challenge, no movements to balance her own. The sound of dull metal hacking away does nothing to relieve the constant ache that lives deep in her bones. She silently makes peace with the fact that all there is to gain from today is a few blisters and future scoldings over more muddy hems, and turns back towards the direction of the manor; just in time for the skies to open up above her.

“Seven help me!” She groans and sprints the final distance to the stables where she stashes away her sword in one of the many empty stalls before heading inside where it’s blissfully dry. 

“Just as I planned, Arya will have to stay the night now.” Catelyn smiles with satisfaction from where she sits next to Sansa, embroidery lying all but forgotten on their laps. Both ladies turn at the sound of her entrance. “Brienne! My dear, you must be freezing, come and join us by the fire at once!” 

“If I look as drowned as I feel, I hope Arya hasn’t caught her death out there in this storm.” Brienne worries, eagerly accepting the offered spot. “She must have reached Cerwyn by now…”

~~~~~

A footman dressed in Baratheon colors opens a set of great doors to find Arya Stark standing just outside. 

She sneezes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This starts out from Brienne's POV but switches over part way through- time for my dumbass son to shine y'all

“ ‘And my kind friends will not hear of me returning home until I’m better- but have no fear! Except for a sore throat, a fever, and a headache, there is nothing wrong with me.’ This is ridiculous.” Brienne concludes. The scroll from Arya arrived just this morning and she had struggled to wait patiently for her parents to join her in the drawing room before hearing its contents. 

“Well, my wife, if our daughter does die it will be a comfort to know it was all in pursuit of Mr. Baratheon.” Ned teases. 

“People do _not_ die of colds.” 

“I must go to her at once.” Brienne announces decidedly. 

“Absolutely not, the horse is with Arya and the others took the carriage into town.” Catelyn says with a hint of exasperation. 

“Then I shall walk. I refuse to leave her alone in this condition.” She squares her shoulders, already mentally running through the list of ways she can slip away without notice if they truly forbid her from going. 

Mother gives her an appalled look. “Walk! You will not be fit to be seen by the time you get there!” 

“Why not. Who knows, we could have them all laid up at Cerwyn Park before the summer’s end.” Father leaves his seat, amusement clear on his face, and pours himself a glass of wine from the tray before them. 

“I will be fit enough for Arya, which is all that matters.”

~~~~~

 _What in heavens has she gotten me into._ Brienne tries to take it all in; the pale columns that seem to go on forever, pristine carpets that look as if they had never once been stepped on, rows and rows of paintings, any one of which could probably be sold to feed everyone in the North for a whole winter. The most notable feature, however, is the silence. Despite the dozens of servants hurrying about, the grand halls of Cerwyn Park are suffocatingly quiet. Compared to the deafening Stark household, this place is as silent as the tombs that run beneath Winterfell. A shiver runs through her at the likeness, and she can’t help but clutch her cloak all the tighter. 

The footman guiding her comes to a stop before a set of heavy doors and turns to throw her one last disapproving look before pushing them open and announcing her to the trio lounging inside. “Miss Brienne Stark.”

~~~~~

[ JAIME ]

 _Gods, it’s that half-giant._ Brienne Stark stands before the Lannisters, face flushed, and skirt covered in mud. The freckles that mark her skin seem to stand out even more now that they’re backed with color, though he suspects she cares little of her appearance judging by the challenging set to her shoulders. 

_Hells, those shoulders._

If he had to insult any woman in Westeros, it had to be the one who claims to wield a sword and has more than a few inches on him in height. To make matters even worse, she almost looks radiant in this gentle afternoon light; those bright, honest eyes staring back at him as if she can read his every thought... 

Seven help him, she’s just as ugly as before, Jaime mentally berates himself. Her body is muscular and solid where most women are soft and curved. Her smile is much too wide for her face, regardless of their lush pink hue. And the dirty dress she wears does little to cover up her mannish arms or her meager chest- Though, to give the wench some credit, even muddy this gown does far more in her favor than whatever garish monstrosity they had forced her into when last they met. 

“Heavens, Miss Stark. Did you walk here?” Cersei asks mockingly, looking her over with an unkind tilt to her smile. 

“Yes, I did.” She replies curtly. “How is my sister?”

Jaime can’t hide the delighted grin that spreads across his face. Not many people can withstand his sister’s temperament, and far fewer do so as openly as this curious beast of a woman.

“She’s upstairs.” Tyrion offers kindly from his place on the couch. “Jaime can show you the way, can’t you?”

“Of course! As long as Miss Stark does not object?” He rises to his feet quickly, nearly tripping over his own chair in his hurry to stand.

“I-I suppose that would be fine...thank you, Mr. Lannister.” Brienne bows in thanks. 

“Did you just bow?” Cersei asks with barely concealed amusement. 

She finally allows herself to look embarrassed, turning her eyes to the ground to hide whatever emotions are sure to be painted clear in their depths. “Apologies, Miss Lannister. I never did master the curtsy.” 

“I’m sure you must be eager to see your sister, allow me to take you to her at once.” Jaime curses himself for how much he must sound like father. Tyrion makes a small noise in response, and it dawns on him suddenly that his brother will never let him hear the end of this. However, Brienne seems anxious enough to leave and follows him from the room without comment. 

Leading the way through now familiar hallways, he can feel the weight of her gaze despite the large distance she has purposefully left between them as they walk. 

“Miss Stark- Brienne, if I may-”

“You may not, sir.” She cuts him off. 

He winces at the ice in her tone. She has every right to hate him, but there must be something he can do to win at least her acceptance while she remains here, if not her friendship. “Well, Miss Stark it is then. I fear we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, you see...I know you are here to see your sister of course, but if I could have a moment of your time while we still have the honor of your presence here at Cerwyn?” 

“I must ask that it wait until after I have made sure my sister is not on the brink of death, if that is quite alright, sir. Apologies if I wish to ease my worry first and foremost.” Brienne works to control her expression but concern works its way across her features anyways. 

The rest of the trip to the third floor is left in silence, thankfully broken once they find Gendry pacing nervously outside her sister’s door.

“Miss Brienne! Oh, I’m so glad to see you.” His friend greets her warmly. 

At that moment, the maester leaves Arya’s room with his large supply bag in hand and a tired look on his face. 

“How is she?” Both Brienne and Gendry ask together. 

“A violent cold, but she will recover nicely within the next few days.” He answers, earning a sigh of relief from both. 

Brienne moves past them all, surprisingly agile for someone of her size, and rushes in to gently gather the much smaller girl into her arms. “Arya!”

“Brienne! Oh shove off, you’re so cold.” She complains with a weak laugh. The girl has dark circles under her eyes and a sickly pallor about her. “They’re being so kind to me, I fear I'm being a terrible imposition.” 

“Don’t worry, I don’t know who’s more pleased to have you here, Mother or Mr. Baratheon.” 

“Definitely Mr. Baratheon, Gendry would never turn away your lovely sister’s company. Though I do have to say that the circumstances that have kept her here are regrettable.” Jaime joins the girls, followed by a blushing Gendry. 

Brienne studiously ignores him and turns to address the other man instead. “Thank you for tending to my sister, it seems she is in better comfort here than she would be at home.”

“It is an honor- not-not to see her so sick, of course! That’s-That's terrible. I only meant-” 

“What my dear friend meant was that we must have a room made up for you at once, Miss Stark. You will be our guest here until Arya recovers.” Jaime smoothly cuts in, saving is lovesick friend. Gendry nods in agreement, more than thankful for the rescue. 

 

~~~~~

 

The quill in his hand slips for the third time this evening, his words running together across the page until it looks as if he had attempted to write with his left instead of his right. It isn’t his fault, not really, not when the company is so distracting. 

“You write uncommonly fast, Mr. Lannister.” Brienne’s attempt at conversation is reluctant at best, and yet he can’t help but find it charming. Perhaps it has something to do with how little she hides of her true feelings. 

There’s nothing a Lannister is better at than hiding what they really want. 

“You must be mistaken, It’s our other brother who excels in penmanship. Jaime would much rather be out getting beaten black and blue training with our father’s soldiers than writing letters of business, isn’t that right?” Cersei asks while lingering close behind his chair.

“On the contrary, I never get beaten black and blue, not if I win fast enough.” He replies easily. 

“Then perhaps you aren’t training with the right people.” Brienne suggests seriously. His eyes find hers in shock, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she watches his expression. 

“Oh, I like you.” Tyrion says, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Are all Stark girls this bold or were we simply lucky enough to host the only two?”

She drops her gaze at once. “Forgive me if I caused offense, sir.”

“No offense was taken, I assure you. I have only heard wonderful things of your family.” Tyrion promises her earnestly. “Your mother is an honorable woman, and your father even more so.” 

“I thank you, sir. I hope we manage to keep your high opinion once you have had the opportunity to meet the rest of my family. My brothers are known for being quite the handful.” Brienne says fondly. 

“But not your other sister? She must be the only quiet one among you Starks.” Jaime comments playfully. 

She pauses, unsure of how to answer. “I-I wouldn’t go so far as to call her quiet; perhaps accomplished. She is much more fond of the skills expected of her than Arya or I ever have been. Her needlework, for example, is very delicate and fine.” 

“It’s amazing how young ladies have the patience to be so accomplished.” Gendry remarks. 

“And what could you possibly mean by that?” Cersei asks.

“Well, I only meant that they can all embroider cushions, and dance, and play the piano. I couldn’t do it, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t have the patience for skills of the sort.” He admits. 

“I think the term accomplished is used far too often- though I don’t mean anything against your remaining sister, Miss Stark. I can’t name more than half a dozen women, in all my acquaintance, that are truly accomplished.” Cersei insists. 

“Goodness! You must surely be an expert on the subject then.” Brienne replies. The edge in her voice is clear and Jaime suddenly prays for the roof to fall in and save him from this mess. 

“I am.” _End this nonsense, Cersei._ “She must have extensive knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing and the modern languages, to deserve the word. And carry the grace and air of a highborn lady.”

“And of course, she must improve her figure through extensive training in swordplay.” He intervenes. Cersei looks scandalized while Brienne flushes just as lovely as she had early this afternoon. Just as blotchily, he amends, noticing how the red blooms trail unevenly until they disappear beneath the dip of her covered collarbones. _I wonder how far down they go._

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jaime.” Cersei scoffs, pulling him away from his musings. 

“I’m not surprised you know only six accomplished women. I wonder now how you might know any.” Brienne tries, and fails, to keep her tone neutral.

“Are you really so against womanly nature that you judge them so severely?” His sister pushes. 

“I have never met a woman that matches your description, I imagine she would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.” Brienne and Cersei assess each other for a tense, drawn out moment before the latter of the two crosses the room to the first and offers her arm.

“Take a turn about the room with me, Brienne.” Cersei demands. 

Confused and clearly afraid to deny the woman, she stands clumsily and allows their arms to be linked together. Cersei guides them in a slow lap around the sitting room. “It’s refreshing, is it not, after sitting in one place for so long?”

“It’s a small kind of accomplishment, I suppose.” Her eyes seek his briefly before she catches herself and stares forward once more. 

“Won’t you join us, Jaime?” Cersei says, catching the interaction. 

He shakes his head and carefully avoids looking directly at the two women. “You only have two motives, and I would only be in the way for either.”

“What can he mean?” She asks Brienne mischievously. 

“The best way to disappoint him would be by not asking.” 

“Enlighten them, brother!” Tyrion calls. 

“Either you trust each other and have secret business to discuss, or you are aware that our guest’s form would appear to a greater advantage by walking.” Jaime leers lazily at Brienne who frowns as Cersei laughs beside her. “If the first, I should get in your way. If the second, I can admire her much better from here.” 

“Oh shocking! How will you punish him for such a jest?” Cersei asks. He squashes down the urge to correct her but reminds himself it _was_ a jest. 

“We could always tease him.” She suggests.

Cersei tosses her head back. “Oh no, Mr. Lannister’s faults are much too numerous to laugh at, there would be no challenge to it at all.” 

“Are you really so dishonorable, Mr. Lannister? Would you consider that a fault?” Brienne questions him carefully. 

“That I couldn’t say.” 

“We’re trying to find fault in you, sir.”

“Maybe it’s that many choices in life are not black or white, or that their consequences are worth what you pay for them. Offenses against the people I care for are the real offenses I can’t forgive...and who knows what countless things I would do for love.” Jaime realizes that all eyes are now on him, his answer much too dark and serious for these games of theirs. He clears his throat awkwardly and sets down the long-forgotten quill in his hand. 

“Oh dear, I’m afraid I can’t tease you about that at all.” Brienne’s voice goes soft, softer than any woman of her stature has a right to sound. 

“Not to worry, we will find fault with him yet.” Cersei promises with a small smile frozen in place. 

Somehow, Jaime believes she will.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sleepovers and fistfights take place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME A MONTH TO POST. Life happens but I would still die for Jamie and Brienne so uuuuuuuh here you guys go, this is my first time writing a fight scene so im gonna apologize now oof

Brienne wakes in an unfamiliar bed.

Sitting upright with a gasp, it takes a few disorienting seconds to remember where she is; Cerwyn Park, lying next to the sister who even in her sleep now shows more signs of color than the day before.  


The room they had tried to place her last night was much too empty without Arya there beside her, and without a second thought she had wrapped up in one of the many silken blankets covering the bed there and determinedly wandered the third floor until she once again found Arya’s room. The younger girl had teased her relentlessly, despite how pleased she was to see her;

_“What if one of the Lannisters had seen you dressed like that? Sneaking around their house in only a nightgown and bedding.”_

What if _Jaime_ had seen her like that? 

She could beat herself for how childish she sounds even to her own ears. Why should she care what that unpleasant man thinks of her appearance? It’s not as if she hadn’t already heard it from men before; she could dress just as finely as Cersei and still never pass as a lady. 

She rises and slowly drifts towards the large window taking up the right of the room, welcoming the early morning chill that brushes against her exposed skin as she stretches. Brienne drinks in the scene waiting for her behind the glass with appreciative eyes; miles of countryside spread out below, every glorious detail awash in the pale blue light of dawn. How anyone could choose the crowded cities of the south over _this_ is beyond her. 

There, further away, someone rides towards the stable yards. 

The rider is too far away for Brienne to name, though he mustn't be a stranger if the guards standing watch ignore him, allowing him to make his way straight for a trough tucked against the corner of the stalls. Dismounting, he shoves back the hood of his cloak and ducks his head under the trough pump, dousing himself with cold water. 

_Golden locks._

Oh. 

All the hate in the world doesn’t change the way the sun gleams through Jaime’s hair, setting it shining prettily in the places where it curls just past his ears. 

As if sensing he is being watched, the man turns and catches her staring; a slow, confident smile building on his face as they lock eyes. _Typical_ , she scoffs. These presumptuous southerners assume the whole world must be in constant awe of highborns. She must look only half as annoyed as she feels for his smile to soften so quickly. Jamie seems to remember himself and bows before gesturing for her to come down and join him. 

_Gods, end me..._  


~~~~~

[ JAIME ] 

_Blue eyes._  


Oh.

The room grows far warmer than should be expected of a castle this far north as Brienne Stark marches down the grand staircase. He finds himself eagerly closing the remaining distance between them, a now familiar frown already tugging at the corners of her mouth as he takes a step too close to be considered polite.

“Mr. Lannister.” comes a terse greeting. 

“Miss Stark! I’ve noticed your sister grow healthier by the day now that she is in your company.” Jamie offers an arm, which the stubborn wench ignores. “How lucky she is to have you here.” 

Brienne steps past him towards the gardens without turning to see if he will follow. “That is kind of you to say, Mr. Lannister.”

“Jamie, my name is Jamie.” He corrects while easily keeping step. She chooses to ignore his presence as well as his words, though it seems progress enough that she has joined him either way. “Now that we have all been assured of your sisters recovery, I was hoping to show you to the training yards.”

“...You would take me to the training yards?” Brienne asks, stopping so suddenly in her path that he would have ran into her had he not been watching so closely for her reaction. “But...But why?”

“I want to see who will win, of course.”

~~~~~

When Arya Stark said she and her sister could fight, he imagined them wrestling with kitchen boys and sparring with broom handles. Offering to show Brienne this small but well-used yard was intended more as a peace offering than anything else. And yet the tall woman before him wields her sword as familiarly as an extension of her own arm, shifting easily into a practiced stance. 

Who could be responsible for training a young maiden to fight? Surely not Ned Stark- the man values his family far too much to let anything happen to his daughters, especially not his eldest. Though suitors can’t be much of an issue in this case. Jamie gives her his most charming smile and begins to circle, waiting for any sign of an opening, “I promise not to end things too quickly so long as you try not to hurt yourself, my lady.”

She snorts loudly and draws her sword to her chest before mirroring his careful circling. “And I promise not end things until I knock you flat on your back, _sir_.” 

His laughter nearly costs him a glancing blow to the chest, her swift movements barely allowing him the time to raise his blade before she is brushing aside his parry with an easy twist of the wrist and stepping away once more. The move is executed perfectly. Even boys with years of the finest training at Casterly aren’t as sure of themselves as this wild northern girl. 

And Brienne Stark actually smiles. It’s just as ugly as the rest of her, and yet Jamie finds himself smiling in return. He can feel it in their movements now, the same excitement they share pushing them to be faster, rougher, both trying to land the next hit. He brings his sword down on the exposed skin of her wrist but the edge merely glances off with the force of her swing aimed higher up, the blunted steel leaving a mark where it scrapes against his jaw. 

“Come now, wench, not my face!” Jamie plays at being truly hurt before slamming the edge of his hilt against her shoulder, forcing the sword to fall from her hand. “Now yield.”

She stands perfectly still for only a moment before throwing both arms around his neck and driving a knee into his gut. He sucks in a hard, uneven breath, dragging her down with him as he falls to his knees. Brienne tries to push him onto his back, but he grabs both her arms and rolls her to the ground, trapping her body beneath his. It’s then that she gasps- a sound that fills his ears- and it’s only then that he realizes the position he’s put them in. 

_There is a woman beneath me._

Jamie had forgotten who he fought. This brave, stubborn woman spars as if her life depends on winning. No one else had ever gotten this close to beating him before and definitely not a woman. It’s almost a shame she lost, really. 

And then she hits him. Hard. 

Well, slams her head against his with the force of a direwolf is more like it. Stunned, Jamie barely has time to open his mouth in shock before she’s tearing an arm free and landing a fist exactly where her blunted steel had struck before, leaving what is sure to be a nasty bruise on his jaw. While still stunned silent, Brienne manages to force him into the same position that had held her only moments before...with the exception of keeping her face well away. 

By now the sun has made it all the way into the sky and the world is finally waking up around them. Northern wind cools their sweat-warmed bodies, servants make noise from inside the high halls of Cerwyn, and their injuries appear even more severe now that they can be seen in full light. Brienne’s weight atop him is solid, unmoving. The look in her brilliant eyes tells him it’s over. “I made a promise to see you on your back, Lannister.” 

“A promise you took to heart, I see.” He grins, still dazed. “... I yield.” 

“I never thought I’d live to see the day! Someone finally gave Jamie Lannister the beating he deserves.” Gendry crows, causing both heads to snap forward in surprise. 

A cough from a very amused, very healthy looking Arya Stark is all it takes for the two of them to awkwardly push away from each other. Brienne ignores the hand Jaime offers and stands on her own, unable to meet anyone’s eyes as she practically runs inside. 

“You should pray to the gods that she carries no mark on her face, our father might skin you alive otherwise.” Arya informs him with a smirk.

“Not if she gets to me first.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at updating on time but I will NOT be abandoning this fic

One of Gendry’s men opens the doors of the drawing room to usher in a rather large, rather _noisy_ group of people. “A Mrs. Stark, Miss Stark, Mr. Stark, and Mr. Snow.” 

“Are we to receive every northerner in the country?” Cersei demands without looking away from her glass. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you all.” Tyrion bows respectfully, shooting their sister a look as he rises. “Your daughters have told us so much about you.”

“They haven’t been a burden, I hope?” Catelyn asks politely while the rest of the Starks- and the Snow- take in the immense room around them. 

Brienne resembles her family very little, though that should have been expected seeing as they share no blood. There is something, however, in the seriousness of the bastard that reminds Jamie of the look on the wenches face when she’s deciding whether or not she should run someone through. 

It’s a likable trait, really. It shows a good judge of character. 

“Not at all! Their stay has been nothing less than a benefit to our time in the country, wouldn’t you agree, Jamie?” Gendry asks. 

“It’s always a pleasure to make new acquaintances, even if there are far fewer to be made in the countryside.” He concedes.

Brienne enters the room with an arm supporting her younger sister, against Arya’s loud protests. Catelyn rushes to her daughter’s side, making a fuss as she slowly guides her to one of the overstuffed couches filling the center of the room. Cersei had them ordered before they left the Keep- hideous things that cost a fortune and looked exactly as garish as the rest of the decor. It’s no surprise Gendry hadn’t turned down her offer to decide on the furnishings. His friend may have many skills, but talking his sister out of anything is definitely not one of them. 

The mother spends what feels like an eternity arranging pillows and mother-hen clucking before speaking up again without looking away to face him. “I assure you, there are just as many interesting things happening here than can be found in the cities.”

“Of course Mother, I think L- Mr. Lannister merely meant there isn’t as many types of people to be met in the country as there are in the South, which you must acknowledge to be true.” Brienne argues. Jaime tries to catch her eye from across the room but she refuses to look in his direction, even while he nods in agreement. 

“Mr. Baratheon, is it true that you have promised to hold a ball here at Cerwyn?” Sansa asks. 

Brienne was right in describing her sister so when last they spoke of her. Sansa Stark truly does have all the makings of a proper lady; Tully-red hair piled high in neat plaits, her mother’s same sharp yet delicate features, and a fine summer dress so clean and well-fitting it could put Cersei to shame. The girl is young but a man would have to be blind to not see her beauty. 

_And yet…_

“Don’t be rude, Sansa.” the Snow chides. 

“I think a ball would be a wonderful idea.” Tyrion jumps in, much to the girl’s delight. Jaime notices the small, warm smile his brother offers her- and much more interestingly- the one she gives in return.

“When your sister has recovered, you shall name the day.” Gendry finally agrees. 

Though Cersei rolls her eyes, most everyone else seems rather pleased with the idea. Everyone else except Brienne, of course. The giantess looks uncomfortable. Perhaps it’s the idea of having to wear another hideous dress. Or perhaps she’s afraid none of the men will ask her to dance- after all, Jaime can’t recall seeing her actually dancing at the last function. The ball where they first met. 

_The ball where he insulted her._

~~~~~

[ BRIENNE ]

Mother and the rest had arrived by carriage, meaning at least they wouldn’t be returning home by horseback or on foot. Not that Brienne wishes to imagine returning _anywhere_ by foot, not with her body still aching from head-to-toe. There is a sizable bruise running across her ribs and an angry red abrasion on her wrist from where Jaime’s sword had found its mark. 

Mr. Gendry and the Lannisters have gathered to see them off. The skies are clear and Arya looks radiant- as healthy as she’s ever been now that she has had time to fully recover. She owes them a great debt, however she may loath to admit it, and Brienne has never been one to stray from duty. 

Perhaps in time she’ll find a way to pay them back. 

“Really, I don’t know how to thank you.” Arya says. 

Gendry beams bashfully, his eyes never once leaving her. “You’re welcome anytime you feel the least bit poorly.”

Brienne bows as she passes Cersei Lannister, remembering only too late how the woman had mocked her for it previously. It seems she remembers as well. “Thank you for your company. It was most instructive.”

“Not at all. The pleasure was all mine.” She replies tightly. 

Everyone else has fit themselves back into the carriage- except for Jon who is climbing his way up to sit beside the coachman- and Brienne must make her way to join them when her eyes fall once more upon Jaime Lannister. He says nothing as she passes, only meets her gaze unabashedly. 

“Mr. Lannister, Mr. Baratheon.” regarding them in farwell, Brienne attempts to pull herself up by the edge of the carriage but finds a warm hand steadying her instead. Calloused fingers brush gently over the scrape on her wrist before pulling away as she’s able to gain firm standing. 

From somewhere far away, the sound of her mother insisting she sit down barely registers at all. Brienne can only focus on Jaime’s smile having lost its usual mocking edge, which must be a terrible sign indeed.

“Miss Brienne.” He says softly as he turns away, striding up the drive without another word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giantsbane comes to Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Jamie is going to be not as involved for the next few chapters but don't worry, he's just busy taking care of a drunk Tyrion and thinking about a certain tall woman...

“Soldiers!” Bran shouts. Row after row of Blackwater troops pass the carriage with banners held high. 

“There must be thousands of them.” Sansa says in awe as they lean forward to watch them march by. Leading the Militia is a woman all in red, hair whipping in the wind like wine-colored waves. She turns as the carriage moves on and offers her audience a kind smile as they pass her men. 

“A woman leading an army?” Though mother sounds almost angry at the idea, Brienne silently rejoices. All her life she’d been told that there was no place for a girl on the battlefield, and yet here is a strange woman being followed by more swords than the North had ever seen. 

~~~~~

As the Starks- and the Snow- return home at last to Winterfell, they are greeted by Ned waiting for them in the yard. 

“I hope, my wife, that you have ordered a good dinner today. I have reason to expect an addition to our family party.” He holds out an unsealed scroll. 

~~~~~

Brienne groans, laying back on the damp grass next to her dear friend. “His name is Tormund Giantsbane- the dreaded cousin.”

“Now, is ‘the dreaded cousin’ his formal title or merely an honorific?” Osha teases. 

She snorts loudly and rolls her eyes. The air is thick today; too much water in the air sticking to their skin for the many layers of their dresses to be comfortable. Too bad they can’t lay outside in their slips- mother would be in absolute pieces. She pushes her sleeves up past the elbows at least, though it only brings a small relief. “It’s the only thing he deserves, and yet he’s to inherit everything. My sisters and I may keep our stays, but even our forks belong to him.”

“But when can he turn you out?” The other girl asks. 

“Whenever he pleases! He saved Grandfather’s life in battle and so was entailed Winterfell.” Brienne sighs. “We really should stop allowing men to make grand choices.”

The two girls laugh and try to put the visit that is to come out of mind. 

~~~~~

“Where is the old fucker then?” A truly wild looking man is ushered through the gates of Winterfell wearing a suit of furs and a fine layer of dirt from his travels, though the dirt could very well be a constant state judging by his overall lack of grooming. 

“Tormund, You’re looking well.” Father greets him kindly, quickly ushering their cousin inside before he can frighten the entire staff. 

“And you look terrible.” He grins, clapping him on the back. 

Both men stride through the halls towards the drawing room where the rest of the family awaits. Though mother had everyone rushing since their arrival from Cerwyn in order to make the estate presentable, Tormund seems unimpressed with the gleaming stone walls and fine artifacts on display. “Your family was always good at making things pretty, but what use is pretty if it isn’t useful, Stark?”

Ned chooses not to answer, though his smile grows wider as they join the others. “May I introduce my children; Brienne, Sansa, Arya, Bran...and Jon. And my wife- who you have met on more than one occasion.”

“Catelyn, as beautiful and cold as the snow.” He crows. His bright blue eyes pass over each of them, stopping first on Jon, who is standing as still as a statue in the corner. Though Tormund could only be three-and-ten older than her brother, he stands a head taller and more than a hands length broader. “A strong, handsome man- be thankful you didn’t get your looks from your parents.”

Jon seems unable to reply, but he doesn’t wait for one either way. He has found Brienne, who remains younger than both and taller still. “Which Stark are you, Big Woman?”

“...Brienne.” She replies with barely hidden distaste. 

“Aye, Brienne- the Tarth girl. I met your father before he passed. You look as much of a man as he did.” Tormund seems to mean this as a compliment, but if it hadn’t been for a sharp look from mother, she would have made sure he could never compliment again. 

Instead, she bites her tongue before speaking up once more. “Thank you...I’m sure he wishes he was here to see you again.”

“Horse shit! If Serwin Tarth were here, he’d have knocked my teeth in twice over!”

Brienne is inclined to agree. 

~~~~~  
Dinner is an interesting affair. 

Tormund sits at the head of the table where father is usually placed, using both hands to tear into his chicken. Though both her parents seem to have expected this behavior, Bran watches him in awe. They are never allowed to use their hands to eat, not even on name days, and still mother doesn’t scold him in that serious voice of hers the way she does them.

_“Come now, Bran, we are not direwolves! Use your fork or you may skip this meal and the next.”_

But no. This fiery-haired cousin does as he pleases- though, at least he isn’t all bad. He has made no mention of taking away their home just yet, which is a small blessing of its own. 

“Who’s fine work was it in killing the chicken?” He asks loudly.

“We are perfectly able to keep a cook and butcher, Tormund.” Catelyn informs him with fond exasperation. 

“Why go through the trouble of extra men when you can hunt the creatures yourself? Not that chickens need hunting. Still, they are crafty little cunts.” He tears off a piece of thick, fresh bread and leans back in his chair to eye them all.

“And how goes hunting in the camp? Though we have been fortunate this year in our warmer summer, i’m sure things can still be scarce further up.” Ned says. 

Tormund thinks on his words for a moment. The wild man takes a long, slow drink of ale before finally meeting father’s eyes. “We’ve had help in the hunting...Tywin Lannister’s men stay outside the encampment.”

“You’ve allied yourself with that man?” The room is deadly silent; only the sound of crackling fire from the hearth fills the air. Mother gently lays a hand over father’s, drawing his attention away from their cousin.

“I’ve done what’s best for my people. I won’t fight with him, Ned. You know I’d never fight for a cocksucker like him. But I can’t say that I’ll fight against him, not when the nights grow longer and food turns up less and less.” Tormund’s voice is unapologetic but his face is tired, softening his features until he looks like a different man all together. 

“And what happens when the food is gone all together and his men’s bellies grow just as empty as yours? You think he’ll still care about the safety of those people? Winter is coming and we can’t depend on Southerners for help. I’ve never met better hunters than the Free Folk, why would you need these green boys to aid your lot in running down beasts? What do they do better than your own men?” Ned demands.  


“It’s not my men I’m worried about! There are children in my camp! Elders! Not a one of them can defend themselves and they sure as hell can’t hunt for food! Our numbers grew smaller by the day, and not all of us have walls to hide behind when things in the night come calling for blood!” Tormund slams a hand on the table, sending silverware skittering over the edge. “You’re right, there’s not a better hunter in the world than us Free Folk. We even have giant brothers at our backs now. But you haven’t seen the terrors that I have, Ned Stark. You don’t have any place passing judgement.”

Father sighs and rakes a hand over his face. “You’re right. I apologize, really, I do. I know if there was any other way, your damned pride would surely have found it by now.” 

After a beat, Tormund laughs, and the room seems to let out a breath all at once. “Aye, I would have.”

“...You know that if your people ever need shelter, we offer it freely. Winterfell is yours by right.” Mother looks as if she wants to argue but Ned stops her with a look. “It would be better than having to rely on the good will of Tywin Lannister, after all.” 

“Nah, your family is much better at keeping things pretty than I ever could be. And besides, I’d rather look at that perfumed shit Tywin Lannister, than see Catelyn Stark have to string up every Free Folk in the North.” 

“Have you ever met his children?” Brienne cuts in.

“Wha- Those three? Aye. All of them prettier than the last- though I’d rather try fucking the piss poor excuses for soliders than get anywhere near that crazy cunt, Cersei.” He winks. 

Brienne chokes on air and hears a few gasps from around the table. 

~~~~~

The family gathers in the library after dessert is finally cleared away, everyone spread out in different places to hear Tormund tell stories of his many victories against the men and creatures of the North. 

“-killed a giant when I was 10. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife. When she woke up, you know what she did?” The only person paying attention anymore is Jon, who sits across from him on an ottoman, and shakes his head in all the right places. Bran probably would have liked it, but he had fallen asleep curled up on the floor hours ago. “Suckled me at her teat for three months. Thought I was her baby. That’s how I got so strong: giant’s milk.” Then he proceeds to down his drink, spilling it all over his beard and clothes in the process.

_Ah- Giantsbane._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Starks make a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this might seem a bit rushed since i'm dying to get to the next few chapters. This was written more for some background information than anything but I hope you enjoy!

Brienne and Arya are walking to the great hall when, across the yard, Tormund advances towards them. 

“Oh no!” She groans. He spots them and stalks past the guest house, hurrying towards the bridge that stands between them. 

Arya grabs her by the hand. “Quick, this way!” Her sister pulls around the smithy, waiting until they hear his footsteps turn to circle before they make a run for the East Gate entrance. 

Tormund doubles back but the girls are nowhere to be found. 

~~~~~

The two Starks arrive to find a village filled with people, livestock, and fresh mud that clings to every cobblestone. Brienne, forever cautious, looks about in apprehension- Arya, however, is flushed and reckless. She looks behind them and laughs. “We’ve lost him!”

They slow down to a walk and then stop. Outside a haberdashery, Bran and Sansa are talking to the beautiful woman they had spotted while returning from Cerwyn. She’s even more lovely up close- the kind of woman men fight for, she imagines cynically. “Sansa? Bran?”

“We just happened to be looking for some ribbon for a dress I’ve been sewing, haven’t we, Bran?” Sansa hurries to explain as they join them. 

He nods eagerly. “And we met Miss Melisandre!” 

“She picked up Bran’s gloves.” She adds. 

“She’s the advisor to Stannis Baratheon- Gendry’s uncle!” 

Melisandre curtsies at Bran’s introduction, saving them from anymore rambling. “I’m enchanted to meet all of you. Shall we look at some ribbon together?”

“Oh yes!” Bran agrees. 

The group wanders into the shop; a building filled to the brim with men’s clothing, as well as miles and miles of sewing material. Every surface is covered in bins filled with thread, or buttons, or scarves. And hanging from the ceiling is dozens of brightly colored ribbon. While the others all head to the counter, Miss Melisandre stays back to stand with Brienne. “I’m afraid I was never really good at picking ribbons.” 

“If it is any comfort, neither am I.” She admits awkwardly. 

“We should feel rather confident after being able admitting that.” The woman laughs. “It’s true, you know. I decorated my room on my own, in what I thought was an acceptable fashion, and it reduced grown women to tears of mirth.

“Then why don’t you change it?” Brienne asks with a smile. 

“And deny people such pleasure?” Melisandre raises an eyebrow teasingly and sifts a hand through a bin of mismatched buttons. 

“So you don’t mind being laughed at?” 

“Not at all. I find that there will always be people to laugh at you. What really matters-” She pauses. “-is the people who don’t.” 

Brienne looks at her thoughtfully. Before she has time to form a reply, Bran comes running. “Please, Brienne, can I borrow some money?” 

“You’re already rather in debt with me, I’m afraid.” She answers in a faux serious voice. 

“Allow me to assist you.” Melisandre cuts in, guiding him back towards the front counter.

“No! Please- Miss Melisandre! You don’t-” Brienne wishes to politely dissuade her but the woman only flashes a small smile from over her shoulder and pulls out a small coin pouch. 

~~~~~

“You’re too generous.” Brienne says quietly as she and her party emerge from the shop, bundles in hand. 

“I know. 3 whole copper pennies!” Melisandre laughs and links their arms together. 

“It all adds up.”

“I’ll pay her back!” Bran offers from behind. 

“Oh yes, I’ll make sure of that.” She says, ruffling his hair.

How lucky they are to have made an introduction with such a gentle lady. She is, by far, the most interesting person to ever come this far North, even more so than any Baratheon or Lannister, she decides. 

After walking for quite some time down the many narrow streets, the sun begins to fall lower in the sky, and mother and father are surely going to begin to wonder where their children have ran to now. “I’m afraid we must return home shortly, as we do have visitors waiting for us.”

“But of course! Let me keep you company on your walk home, the Baratheon camps are just East of Winterfell.” Melisandre says, already leading the way. 

~~~~~

A messenger arrives just as they reach the main gates. “Excuse me, ladies, I have word for Miss Arya.” 

“Alright then.” Arya accepts the offered scroll and breaks the seal at once, reading it out loud as her eyes scan the contents. “ ‘We have received news that you are quite well and I have not yet forgotten my promise to your sister. We will be holding a ball at Cerwyn and beg your families attendance, though I imagine that shan’t be too difficult to arrange. Until then, Gods bless you...Gendry.’” 

Her eyes are far away as she stares at the letter in hand. Brienne would normally tease her for looking so lovesick, but she finds that she cannot. Not when her sister looks so pleased. 

“Will _you_ be attending the Cerwyn ball, Miss Melisandre? Stannis' nephew will be there after all! And his friend the Lannisters!” Sansa says. 

An uncomfortable look passes over the woman’s face, a look that she quickly covers. “I hope so, though I go wherever my lord needs me most. If that happens to be there, I won’t deny him.” She then turns to Brienne. “May I ask how long Jaime Lannister has been a guest at Cerwyn hall?”

“About a month...Are you acquainted with Mr. Lannister?” 

“Indeed, my fate has been very intimate with that gentleman. I had been connected with his father for a great many years as a councilor.” Melisandre clears her throat. “You may be surprised, Miss Stark, given my...cold reaction. Are you well acquainted with the man?”

“As much as I could ever wish to be. I spent more than one day in the same house and found him most unagreeable.” She tells her. _Though he did take part in nursing Arya back to health, and for that I am grateful._

“I cannot admit to be sorry you found him unagreeable. But really, I speak out of turn.” Her voice breaks. “Miss Stark, do you think I could beg your company for a moment longer before you join the others?”

Brienne turns to see that her siblings have long since returned inside, abandoning them both for a hot meal and an audience to hear of their adventures in town. “Gladly, my lady.”

As they walk further, breathing in the cool night air, she sense that the news to come is more serious than ribbons and balls. “I hope your plans in favor of the North will not be affected by the man we speak of.” 

“Oh no, If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must go, not I.” 

“Tell me, why do you feel so strongly against him?” She can’t help but ask. _Yes, he seems to flirt with anyone he comes across- and he’s more than a bit entitled- but he's also...protective, would perhaps be the right word._

“He ruined my name.” _Oh._ “I was once a valued member of Tywin Lannister’s war council. His father sought me out time and time again, treated me the same as any man in my position. Oh, he was strong, a born leader. But Jaime was jealous.” Melisandre turns away, the sight of her filling Brienne’s heart with hurt and sympathy.

“But what could he possibly be jealous of, my lady?” _Surely Jaime wouldn’t go so far without reason._ She shakes herself. 

“His father valued my opinion on the field more than his son’s, and Jaime Lannister could never stand for it.”

“How-How ignorant!” Brienne cries in dismay.

She nods slowly. “And out of his own dishonorable personhood, for he considered me too naive to be worth his consideration.” 

It is after her words sink in that Brienne and Melisandre share a quiet moment. The night had come to life around them in the short time it had taken them to walk this far, but she has no fear of what lives in the dark. What could be more frightening than knowing both women had been found guilty of their birth?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love." - Jane Austen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took FOREVER as per usual. There's a bonus part from Tyrion's POV at the end that isn't necessarily about the main plot if you want to skip it but it is pretty cute if I do say so myself

“Aah!”

“Breathe in!” Catelyn instructs firmly, tightening Sansa’s corset while in state of half-dress.

Arya and Brienne, on the other hand, have been talking upstairs for quite some time now, the topic never changing as they both hurry to finish getting ready.

“I still think there must have been a misunderstanding.” Her sister argues, voice muffled by the chemise she’s currently tangled in. 

“Oh Arya, how can you say that when you know how cruel he can be?” Brienne sighs and stares once more into the mirror. 

Mother had been rushing to finish their outfits in time, but even so, she never imagined she could ever look so... _delicate_. Brienne rarely gave any input in regards to her clothing, simply allowed Catelyn or a seamstress to choose color and design, but with the amount of work needed to be done in such a short period, she had asked Sansa to put the finishing touches on her gown for this evening. 

Braided ivory material frames her neckline, as well as under her small bust, though her sister had sewn it far lower along her ribs in order to turn her curves into something almost feminine. Snow drops- just like the wild ones grown near the godswoods- have been embroidered as well, running down the center of the dress and along the hem. 

A shame it’s to be worn by her. 

“I wouldn’t say cruel, so much as idiotic." She teases. "Besides, I’ll learn the truth from Gendry tonight at the ball.” 

“I’ll find the answers myself, if you don’t mind. But until I do, I hope I don’t encounter him.” 

Arya watches Brienne struggle for a bit with her final petticoat before swatting her hands away and tying it for her. “Poor Gendry, stuck in this mess without even knowing it.” 

“Gendry is twice the man Jamie is, I don’t understand how they could ever be friends.” She huffs while tucking her shoes beneath her arm and heading for the door. 

“Let’s just hope you find a more willing dancer this time!” 

~~~~~

There are hundreds of guests; a sea of white only broken by the red of Lannister soldiers. Someone- most likely Cersei- has ordered vast amounts of summer roses that spill over every available surface, filling the air with their sticky sweet perfume and causing Brienne to suck in a slow, nauseated breath. 

_This extravagance must be commonplace in the South._

She stands straighter at the thought, refusing to be seen as some wide-eyed child. Though perhaps her family will do it for her, as she’s already lost sight of all but Arya. Before she can change her mind and make a break for the door, a familiar figure comes half running towards them. 

“You’ve made it! I’m-I’m so pleased.” Gendry greets them breathlessly. 

“As am I.” Arya smiles in turn. 

She can sense when her presence is no longer wanted, and gives the pair one last amused nod before wandering into the next room on her own. With such a large attendance, the stares she receives are more frequent, but they stopped bothering her years ago- for the most part.

Brienne knows she will never hold the hearts of men, knows women laugh at her once they think her too far away to hear, but she’s strong in her own right. Strong enough to get through this damned night already and go home to bed. 

“Ah, Big Woman!” Tormund arrives, turning even more heads as he pushes through the crowd. It seems he hadn’t bothered with the night’s theme- though at least he wore matching Stark furs rather than his normal wildling attire. 

“Cousin, what a wonderful surprise.” Brienne says dryly. 

“It would do me a great honor if you danced with me!” 

“Oh...I didn’t think you danced, Mr. Tormund.” She desperately tries to think of a way out of this but her mind comes back tragically blank.

He laughs loudly, cheeks already rosy from drink, and offers his hand. “A man keeps what he can take.”

Brienne can only give him an icy smile while stepping past him towards the other dancers. This seems to please him well enough, though she shakes her head at the thought of giving him any ideas. Luckily, the strings are quickly picked up once more and the dance begins, drawing her one step closer to the end of this nightmare. 

Over the course of a half hour, she finds that Tormund isn’t as horrible of a dancer as she expected. It’s true that his steps rarely follow those of the couples beside them, and his knowledge of the song in general is passing at best, but he also doesn’t mind having to look up at her during the turns. Doesn’t flinch away when grabbing her rough hands or comment on her own clumsy footwork. In fact, he seems to be having a remarkable time. 

“You’d like our feasts up North! The men would all fight for a chance to dance with you- though none of them would be strong enough to beat me away.” Tormund winks as the song fades away. 

“I’m strong enough.” _Oh gods._ “I only jest, my friend. Though if I may have the next dance, Miss Brienne? Preferably without any bloodshed?” Jaime Lannister speaks as pleasantly as if they truly are just a gathering of old friends meeting again after spending a great deal of time apart, but the look in his eyes as he sizes up Tormund is dark and sharp. 

“Says he’s strong but turns down a chance to prove it-”

“I’ll dance with whoever I please and fight for myself if the need arrives.” Brienne tells them both firmly and holds out a hand before she can change her mind. “Mr. Lannister.” 

He looks taken aback, as if he hadn’t been entirely sure she would agree. Nevertheless, Jaime quickly takes her hand and offers her cousin a distracted farewell. “It was good meeting you sir. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball.” 

And then they’re alone. 

~~~~~

[ JAIME ]

She is the sun bringing an end to a long and joyless night; her usually sickly pale skin glowing in the dim light of a thousand candles. _She’s still monstrously tall._ He counters. Any other man would run from the thought of having to look up at his dance partner. Only- now he can take her in much easier. 

The knowledge leaves him strangely warm. 

“I do love a Sarabande.” Jaime says to break the silence that had crept around them. 

Brienne rolls her eyes and ducks to manage the next step that brings her turning under their raised hands. “I suppose there’s more of a call for it where you’re from.”

“I suspected you might have had fewer chances to dance it what with your skill.” 

“Oh, _not at all_ , sir. I simply choose to dance only with the few men whose presence I can tolerate. You’re lucky I made an exception.” Though her words are meant to cut, she can’t hide her small smile. 

“I agree! If you hadn’t been dancing with that wildling, I never would have been able to ask you for a dance. He seemed rather broken up about me stealing you, by the way.” He raises an eyebrow.

“...And you seem quite jealous.” She frowns.

Jaime nearly trips over the next sidestep but rights himself smoothly, and sighs in frustration. “And if I was jealous, wench? Would that upset you so greatly?” 

“I will not be insulted, sir. I know all too well your opinion on a woman’s place in the world. I doubt a woman of my stature would somehow stand any higher in your eyes.” Brienne huffs and looks away. 

“Oh really? Then you must enlighten me on my own opinion, for I seem to be rather lost on the subject.” _She still thinks so little of him though he has made every attempt to right his wrong._

“I have had the pleasure of making an acquaintance of a Miss Melisandre. She herself has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship and If I remember correctly, you once said that not all choices in life are black or white; would you mark the ending of your companionship as such a grey area?”

_Melisandre._

“Where did you meet that woman?” His voice grows quiet. Serious. It sounds desperate even to his own ears. 

Brienne’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Before she can answer, the dance concludes, and couples are pushing between them to move about the room. Jaime tries to keep her in his line of sight, but even with her added height, she’s quickly lost to him.

~~~~~ 

[ BONUS TYRION ] 

“I’m surprised you haven’t thrown up on anyone yet. One could almost mistake you for decent.” Cersei wears a sweet smile but her eyes hold no warmth towards him. The gods themselves would have to intervene should that day ever come, for surely the world itself would have to be ending. And even then, she would be far too busy trying to save herself to bother with it. 

“How sweet of you to worry, sister, but the night is young. There’s still plenty of time to make an embarrassment of myself.” Tyrion returns the smile and leaves his chair, ignoring the eyes following him as he goes. 

The Cerwyn ballroom is large by Northern standards. Most of their people find it a waste of a structure to focus on something with such a singular use, but the original owners had seen fit to indulge themselves. 

How fortunate for tonight’s guests. 

Tyrion can’t stand it any longer. It’s too hot, too noisy. He grabs a passing wine glass from a serving girl and makes his way outside.

“Ah.” He drinks in the scene around him. Though a few couples had also found the gardens, it remains mostly empty with the exception of a few lightening bugs circling about overhead. The sky is so crisp and bright that it almost feels like a scene from a dream, and had he not recognized the same familiar constellations shining above, he would be almost sure of it. The small man sets his forgotten wine glass on the edge of the balcony and heads further in. 

Arms held behind his back, Tyrion walks the pathways for quite some time, and before long he finds himself stumbling upon an occupied bench placed just outside one of the many high green walls. 

“Oh, Mr. Lannister!” Sansa Stark rushes to rise and bow. 

“No- No, sit, please. Really, there’s no need. It’s only me, after all.” He laughs. 

“Only the more reason to bow then.” She smiles at him and he allows himself just a quick moment to bask in it’s warmth before shaking his head wryly.

“May I join you, Miss Sansa?”

“Please.” She answers softly. 

Tyrion moves to sit beside her on the bench, careful to keep an appropriate space between them. “They say there are more stars here in the North. That they like the cold or perhaps all of the space.” 

“Do you really believe that? That there could be more stars?” Sansa sounds amused. 

“Of course not. The same stars live everywhere...but I do believe you might see them better here. Not just because of the cold or the space.” He moves to face the expectant woman beside him. “Your people believe in things in a way no one else does, you keep faith in everything; in your fealties, your neighbors, your good weather and bad. Even those of you who put their faith in the gods stand by it through it all. If stars could decide, I’d like to believe they would want to shine just a bit brighter here than anywhere else; here where you still believe for them.” 

They both lean back and look towards the sky with appreciation in their eyes. Slowly, fingertips brush against his own. Tyrion longs to turn but a small voice in the back of his mind warns him to stay still lest he keep his promise to Cersei and make a fool of himself. And yet, he still closes his eyes and gently turns his palm up, heart roaring in his ears as he waits. It only takes a second before their hands are intertwined and then everything truly does fall silent. 

“You’re right, you know.” Sansa whispers, forcing Tyrion to look up and find her staring back with a small smile and eyes that shine brighter than anything else he's ever found in the sky. “About the stars.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And if I was jealous, wench?"
> 
> //
> 
> "...Hurry North."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is twice as long but half of it is also a jon/tormund mini fic. i'm going to be including a mini fic for all 3 side ships (gendrya, sanrion, jonmund) and two of them are already done now so you'll be getting the gendrya a few chapters from now! everything else from here on out is just braime with background ships but you can ignore the jon/tormund if you skip everything after the brackets labeled BONUS JON <3 <3 <3 sorry for the long updates, i really wanted to get this one right :)

Every clank of silverware against a dish leaves Brienne wincing. Looking around the breakfast table, more than one Stark seems to be sharing her pain, the bright light of day blinding their poor, hungover eyes. She would laugh if she weren’t so busy focusing on keeping down the food in front of her. 

Last night had been an absolute disaster, though not for everyone it seems. Arya hasn’t stopped smiling since she rose and Sansa almost seemed to float through the doorway this morning. Maybe it was her own misfortune to be left more frustrated by men with every encounter with one. 

_“And if I was jealous, wench?”_

Jealous. As if someone like Jaime Lannister could ever be jealous of anyone dancing with her. Not that it would matter if he did, it would only be a burden to be desired by that horrible, stupid man...Although, horrible as he may be, she did notice the way he watched her with such careful consideration, as if every move she made was noted and tucked away to be deliberated over at later date. 

Perhaps he merely intended to judge her, which would be so predictable coming from a Lannister. How anyone could trust one of them is beyond her. 

Only- the idea that Arya could be right, that this all could have been one considerable misunderstanding between them all...no, Brienne can’t allow herself to think on it, for if that were true, the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach might consume her completely. 

The door slams open, startling them all. It’s Tormund, hair tangled by the strong winds outside, and a proud grin set firmly in place. He’s dragging what appears to be a very mangled looking stag behind him. “Alright you lot, I need a private word with the Big Woman.”

Chairs scrap across the floor in their hurry to stand. 

“Oh yes, certainly! Brienne would be most honored indeed. Please, go on. Everyone. Out quickly. Mr. Giantsbane would like an audience with your sister.” Catelyn’s tone leaves no room for argument from the others.

“Wait- I beg you! Mr. Tormund can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear.” Brienne insists desperately. 

“Nonsense, Brienne! You will stay where you are. Everyone else, to the drawing room. Now, Mr. Stark. “ 

Ned turns to his wife with an exasperated expression. “But Catelyn, surely-” 

“Now!”

Mother makes sure everyone leaves, nodding to Tormund as she shuts the door behind her. Everything happened so quickly that she couldn’t do anything to stop them even if she had thought to. Brienne turns to the man, finding him looking at her in earnest. There is an embarrassing pause.

“I’m not like these weak Southerners who dress up their words all pretty instead of just saying what they mean and doing it. I don’t see need for it; when my people want something, they must try and take it. And almost as soon as I passed through these walls, I planned on trying to take you. You have a say, of course, I’d never try and take that from you. Nor could I, from the looks of it.” He bends down and takes hold of the bloody animal lying on the ground, swinging it easily by it’s middle onto the dining table and leaving a mess in its wake. “I killed this great animal in your name. Take it. Be my wife and come North with me.” 

Silence.

Brienne stares wordlessly, choking on a response. She should say yes. It would only make sense to say yes. It would please her family and she might not receive another proposal again in this lifetime.  
And- Tormund may be rough but he would be good to her, she knows this in her heart. They may even be happy. But when she looks into his face, she sees only green eyes laughing back at her.

_“And if I was jealous, wench?”_

His words, over and over again. 

If Arya is right, if there remains even a small chance that she can trust Jaime Lannister, she knows she can never say yes. Even being his friend would be enough for her- more than enough.

She can never marry Tormund knowing she’ll never be able to give him her heart. 

The quiet admission frightens her. Brienne can try as she might to hate that smug, arrogant ass but every night that she dreams, it is his image that waits for her. From the amused crinkles at the corners of his eyes to the warm shape of his hands that fit so perfectly in hers. She had always been so careful not to want- not to need any one person. It hurts to even allow herself to dream of someone loving her. And now her she is, turning away someone that could, to long for a man that will never see her as anything more than a sparring partner. 

There is no choice at all. 

“I...I can’t accept, Tormund. I’m sorry. You’re a good man, but-”

“-But that Northern bastard got to you first. Aye. Saw the way he looked at you- though I don’t blame him. Thought I might even have to fight the perfumed bastard for how pissed he was to see us dancing. I would have beaten him though.” Tormund winks and shakes his head wistfully but doesn’t seem too heartbroken. “We’ll cook up the animal for my farewell feast then, no reason to let good meat go to waste.” 

~~~~~

Mother is not pleased. She spends the next hour yelling on and on about how ungrateful Brienne is before storming off, pointedly ignoring her for the rest of the day. 

At least father seems to have found the whole ordeal amusing.

And now they all sit once more in the dining room, only now with hot venison sitting on their plates, and tension that grows with every passing minute. 

“Dinner is lovely.” Sansa offers.

“Aye, and your ale is better than any of that piss they’ve been sending our way.” Tormund laughs, allowing everyone to breathe. 

The remainder of the night passes without further incident and before long, the men- excluding Bran, who is too young and tired by now to do much more than yawn- have decided to spend the remainder of the evening down in the yard, where they will drink and share stories to mark the end of their cousin’s visit. Though she isn’t uninvited necessarily, she knows she’s done enough damage. Best give them their time alone together where she isn’t reminding everyone of why Tormund must leave their home so soon. 

As the rest of the family makes towards their rooms, Brienne is stopped by a touch on the shoulder.

“Might I have a word?” Tormund doesn’t seem angry. In fact, his tone is calm and patient. He watches her carefully, as if he is the one between them who has done wrong. 

“You may, of course, sir.” 

He holds out a hand expectantly. Brienne parts her lips in confusion, unsure of what he asks. Still, she hesitantly moves to take his, only to be stopped by the man clasping her forearm instead. A sign of trust. A sign of equals. “I hold you no ill, Big Woman. If the day comes that you ask it, I would happily follow you into battle.” 

“...And I you, Tormund.” She waits for him to laugh away her offer of service, but realizes by the serious nod of his head that they’ve instead made an oath of sorts. There are few people who would trust a sword in a woman’s hands and this wild, brash man is one of them. The notion means a great deal more to her than she could have anticipated. 

“We’ll meet again soon.” He says. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“Will we meet for battle then?” Brienne steps away, half-joking in her farewell.

“One can only hope.” 

~~~~~

[ BONUS JON ] 

The night air is cold, even for summer, and the roaring warmth of the fire rolls over him in waves. Luwin had joined them at first to help carry supplies to the yard, but even he had eventually retired for the evening. Now, only Ned and Tormund remain with him, sitting side-by-side on a rough bench of ancient weirwood. The two men are laughing over some past friends they hadn’t seen for some time, but Jon only watches, never speaking a word. 

_Tormund Giantsbane._

A man who’s fought nearly as many battles as his father, even while being a great deal younger. The things he’s seen, things even people as far North as Winterfell have never dreamed of. What waits there beyond the woods, all the way past the wildlings? Past the first men’s ruins? Would Tormund take him, if he asked? 

What good what it do thinking such nonsense? Jon sighs and tosses more wood onto the fire. His younger sister had rejected the man, though why she had, he couldn’t understand. Brienne’s always been stubborn but he had thought Arya to be the more reckless out of the two. Yet here sits a good, honest man who would not only accept her, but would no doubt arm her as well if given the chance, and she says no. 

_Perhaps she doesn’t want a husband at all._

“Alright lads, I suspect Miss Stark is still waiting for me.” Father pulls himself to his feet, his true years revealed in the slowness of the action. “Care to join me on my walk inside?”

“Leave us be, there’s plenty of drink and fire left for Jon and I to finish.” The man insists, rising to give Ned a strong clap on the back in means of goodbye. 

“Aye, I’ll stay.” Jon nods. 

Tormund seems pleased by that, ignoring Ned’s final words in favor of making his way to the spot just beside him on the ground. He can feel the wildling’s eyes studying him then as they sit alone, blue eyes shining bright with firelight and drink. It sends an embarrassing heat rolling through his stomach, though he can’t say for sure why.

Or he simply chooses not to. 

“You’re awfully quiet, bastard. Did the wind steal your pretty voice away?” The man mocks, not unkindly. 

Jon huffs out a short burst of a laugh. “...Maybe I’m quiet to keep it from being stolen in the first place.”

“Oh, you’re a smart man then. That wind- she’ll steal all you got if you let her.” Tormund passes Jon a skin of warm, spiced spirits that helps fight away the chill that had set in his limbs. They fall quiet after that, passing drink back and forth until every drop is gone and Jon’s body feels as light as a summer day. 

“Will you be takin' Winterfell then, after the battles are all finished between Stannis Baratheon and the Lannisters?” He asks. 

“No, my place will always be in the real North with my people.” He replies eventually. “I like it here though! With all your warm beds and good hunting.”

Jon keeps his eyes on the fire, though the light burns against the dark blanket of night surrounding them, and he shrugs while trying to keep his voice steady, though it wavers regardless. “...You’ll have to come back again soon.”

Tormund grins slowly- confidently. “Aye, I will. So long as you come visit us in the North sometime. We could use the company.”

“What of my sister? I would have thought you’d had enough of my family’s company after this visit.” It slips out before he can stop it and now he must face the serious look it brings to the other man’s once cheerful face. 

“Ah- your sister. She might just have more giant in her than I do- it’s magnificent! But her heart was stolen long before I showed up and there’s nothing to be done about it...” He straightens up and knocks his shoulder hard against Jon’s. “Besides, there are plenty of pretty Starks left!”

“The rest of my sisters are all but spoken for, I’m afraid.” Jon smiles ruefully. 

“Who said anything about your sisters? A Stark’s a Stark, no matter the name.” 

Though he knows it was said in jest, Jon is suddenly very aware of the place where their knees are touching, of the thundering of his heart roaring in his ears. He breathes deeply and tries to calm-

Rough hands cup his face, forcing him to turn towards the other. Tormund had once told him that red-haired folk were kissed by fire and though he had thought it a story, in this moment he can almost believe it. His short, wavy hair shines in this light like a burning sea, while his waiting face holds all the heat of the sun. 

And then they’re colliding, both too desperate and hungry for words. Jon threads his fingers through those burning waves and tugs him closer. 

Closer.  
Closer.  
Closer. 

Nothing else matters. Nothing except Tormund’s mouth, which tastes like winter but feels as warm as home. 

The kiss is crushing and messy and over far too soon. Jon breaks away with a deep sigh, only willing to pull back far enough to rest their foreheads together while they struggle to breathe.

“...Hurry North.” Tormund rasps. 

~~~~~

The early morning air is quiet. All of the Starks remain tucked away in their beds- all but Jon, who sits in these woods as still as a statue atop his horse; waiting. His spear had been fitted only yesterday with a new cross guard to keep the animal from driving forward, something he was immensely thankful for since his last had broken. What use is a good eye and steady hand if you can’t save your gut from being run through by tusks? 

_I imagine Tormund hunts without fear of death._

The ghost of a feeling of hands on his skin sends a red flush creeping up his neck. He touches his lips without thinking before realizing and shaking his head. Here he is, acting as lovesick as a milkmaid after just one kiss. Jon had kissed people before, though admittedly not as many as other men his age.  
This was different. This was the same feeling he had after winning a good fight. Kissing Tormund made him feel strong and brave and-

_Free._

The people of Westeros look down on the Free Folk, believing them to be savages. Yet, Jon sees nothing wrong in being unbeholden to any man. Besides, if the other wildlings are even half as fierce as Tormund, they must be a strong people indeed. 

A flash of thick hide rushes through the trees just beyond his eyeline and with that, he has no time left to think on it before taking off once more. 

~~~~~

Jon meets him on the Northernmost road leaving Winterfell, riding hard and fast to close the great distance between them. “If you don’t slow down, I may have to shoot you!” 

“I’ve seen you with a bow, you’d have a better chance throwing rocks to knock me down.” Tormund laughs, but slows his horse enough to dismount. “Come to see me off then, Snow?” Though his voice remains as lighthearted as Jon had come to expect, hope shines clear in his blue eyes. 

“I have. I brought you something to- well, to take with you on your journey.” Jon smiles softly and dismounts as well before working to untie the very large, covered bundle strapped to his steed. 

“Is that so?” Tormund teases. He stops in place as the cover is pulled away to reveal a boar, ran down just this morning. The place where Jon’s spear had pierced it is jagged and bloody, its empty face now frozen in anger. 

Tormund doesn’t speak. Not for a long time. 

Maybe Jon made a mistake, maybe this was too much and now he’s going to be strung up in broad daylight for acting like a proper fool. Before he can open his mouth to apologize, Tormund strides forward and takes Jon’s face between his hands once again. “The beast is mine, is it?”

He knows what he asks. It’s clear from the reverence in his voice. 

“Aye.” Jon whispers thickly, putting his own hands over the other’s as if to keep him from leaving. 

Tormund makes a small noise in the back of his throat and then he’s leaning down to capture his lips in another kiss, only softer, gentler this time. 

This time it’s a promise.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama Cat supports her wolves and the Gendry Gang™️ are dicks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to the wonderful sassbewitchedmyass who has helped beta throughout this entire story!~ her blog is amazing and her writing is, too <3 <3 <3

“Brienne! Brienne, you must come at once!” Sansa throws off her eldest sister’s blankets, ignoring her tired protests as she flings open the heavy drapes to allow in the blinding light of morning. 

Brienne sighs and peaks open a single, bleary eye to glare half-heartedly at the girl. Usually the first to rise, she had decided to skip seeing Tormund off this morning in exchange for a few extra hours of glorious, self-pitying sleep. Something that her little sister seems determined to interrupt. 

“Must I? Can whatever it is not wait until I no longer feel need to fling myself from the nearest tower?” 

Sansa laughs and crawls into bed beside her. “I’m afraid not, lest we plan to wait for the rest of our lives.” 

Brienne rolls over with a sigh and buries her face against her sister’s shoulder. The younger girls smoothes out her hair with a patient hand and waits, knowing all too well that whatever is eating away at her must come out sooner or later. It’s one of the reasons she loves her; she’s always been the best person to turn to for advice, whether you want it or not. 

“Why must I make everyone around me so miserable?” She eventually sighs.

“You shouldn’t speak like that, Brienne.” Sansa says quietly. “Is this because of yesterday? I know you must think mother is still angry-” 

“How could she not be? I’m her eldest daughter, Sansa, though she may regret it. I can’t sew or dance or sing. I can’t draw or walk gracefully or do anything a good daughter is supposed to do. Jon and Bran are the ones supposed to fight. They’re supposed to be tall and strong and brave. What good am I if I can’t even do the only thing she’s ever asked of me- marry. Have children. I’ve ruined everything...just like always.” By this point she’s started crying in small, choking bursts. The tears slide off her face as hot as wildfire and leaves her stomach burning with shame. 

The sound of the floorboards creaking sends both girls turning towards the door, where Catelyn Stark stands striken and still. “How could you ever think I’d regret having you as my child?” 

Brienne tries to speak but the words turn to ash in her mouth. Tired of waiting for a response, mother crosses the room and nudges the girls over so that she may join them.

It shocks her to see it- a woman best known for her propriety letting her fine day dress crease and her meticulous braids grow flat and messy in order to stretch an arm over both girls and pull them together into one embrace, as if they truly were small children once again.

“I did not give birth to you, it’s true. Your mother was a dear friend of mine, and when she and your father passed, it left my world all the darker for it. But they trusted me to love and raise you as if you were my own.” Catelyn pauses to clear her throat. “It is I who have failed you, sweet girl. If there can be even a moment in which you feel of little worth, then I have not done my duty as your mother. _I have seen you fight, Brienne._ Your secret training with Benjen, your sparring with the farmer’s boys. I am not so old yet that I have lost my eyesight when you return home in the early hours of the morning covered in all manner of dirt and bruises, nor when you slip away to follow Jon to the training grounds.”

“...Why then did you never stop me?” Brienne asks with furrowed brows, allowing Sansa to wipe the tears from her cheeks. 

Catelyn falls quiet for a long moment, considering the question as if she had never really understood it herself. “...There’s something about your face when you hold a blade- something I’ve never seen in you before. I think I would regret it all my life if I tried to take that from you.”

“But you’ve always hated the idea of a woman fighting.” 

She sighs and presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. “I cannot say I understand it, dear, but if it is what makes you happy, who am I to keep you from it any longer.”

“You will let me continue to train then?” Careful hope soars through her swift and dangerous, no matter how she struggles to contain it. 

“You say that it is Jon and Bran who would be strong and brave? Aye, I pray that they will be. But I also give thanks daily for my _strong and brave daughters._ So long as you promise to be careful and try not to ruin every dress your father buys for you, I suppose you may. But- But!” Catelyn quiets the two ecstatic girls. “You must also promise to at least attempt to find a suitable husband before I lay cold in the ground!”

Brienne nods quickly and throws her own arms over her sister and mother, drawing them in even closer as the joy inside her feels almost too much to bear. “I will, I will, I promise! Thank you so very much!” 

Catelyn laughs and gives both girls one final kiss before standing and straightening out her clothes. “Hurry down now, you two, we can’t leave them waiting forever!” And with that, she’s gone almost as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Brienne awash in love and pride. 

“ ‘Them’?” Brienne asks after a beat, propping herself up on her forearms. 

“That’s what I had been trying to tell you before you made us all cry like babes first thing in the morning.” Sansa teases while dragging her from the bed. “Jon is engaged!” 

~~~~~ 

_Jon is engaged._

Though she should find the whole ordeal rather ridiculous, it feels right in a way. Tormund watches Jon like a dying man taking his last look at the sky; as if at any moment he might never have the chance again. It fills her with a sense of longing she became used to years ago, a familiar ache that lives deep in her bones. What Brienne would give to know what it’s like to be the center of someone else’s world- to love and be loved in return. 

This is its own kind of blessing, to see her family grow whole, even while it grows without her.  
“I can’t believe I’ve one child already to be married and two more on the way! How the gods have truly blessed us.” Catelyn seems much more fond of Tormund today then she had yesterday, fussing over whether or not they will be warm enough and if they’ve taken plenty of provisions.

“I expect you to visit once everything is said and done with the Lannister army, lad, you owe your mother a proper cloak ceremony.” Ned says firmly.

“I promise to return him, pretty head intact!” Tormund swears, his booming laugh filling the room and drawing out some of their own.

Before Brienne is given the chance to offer her personal congratulations, Luwin shuffles into the room, sealed parchment in hand. “Miss Arya, a letter.” 

“Thank you, Maester Luwin.” Arya smiles politely, waiting until the room has quieted to break the seal and read its contents. 

Her smile fades. 

_"Mr. Lannister is impatient to see his father and we are scarcely less eager to meet him again. I should think their family has no equal in elegance and accomplishments. It is my duty to indulge you that we should like very much to return to those of closer status."_

_Signed, Mr. Baratheon of Storm’s End_

A glance at the faces around the room is enough to send Arya running out the door, a sharp, pained noise trailing in her leave. No one speaks. Sansa- lovely, proper Sansa- begins to cry on the spot. But Brienne....

Brienne is as cold as winter. 

~~~~~

The next few days come and go in a blur of activity. Jon and Tormund put off their departure to allow Arya time to pack, as mother saw no need to hold two farewell feasts when one would serve just as well. 

Father has decided to send Arya to Braavos, where she will stay with another of their many cousins- this one through blood- until enough time has passed to ease her pain. 

And her rage.

On a brighter note, Brienne has had no trouble finding someone to practice with, Arya asked her the same night the letter arrived.

_“You must let me train alongside you, Brienne, please. Only until I leave. I can’t...I can’t think about it anymore.”_

_“I know.”_

And she does know. 

She knows that every time she passes Sansa’s sealed room, another crack splinters through her heart. 

She knows that Arya hasn’t smiled in days and it makes her furious enough to curse The Seven themselves. 

She knows that waking up at the same time as always will only mean watching dawn arrive alone. 

She knows that should she ever finds herself in the company of a Baratheon or Lannister again, no force on earth could keep her from showing them exactly what happens to those who harm her family. 

~~~~~

The Blackwater troops depart shortly after both Starks, along with Miss Melisandre, who leaves without a goodbye.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne makes a friend and Jaime makes an enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST WARNING + FIGHT WARNING

Thick layers of snow blanket the ground as summer finally ends; and as its people will tell you, fall does not bother with the north. Brienne loves the sound of ice crunching beneath her boots, the crisp air filling her lungs, how much quieter the world has become. She may have been born on an island of warmth but she was raised alongside wolves in these frozen lands. 

She clutches a letter in her hand, ink smearing slightly as snowflakes fall and melt atop the parchment. 

It’s Jon’s handwriting.

_“To my sister Brienne; I have fallen in love with these wild, new lands where beasts of stories roam and no man is called king. You would like it here, I think. The women are nearly as good at fighting as you are, and far better than me either way. I ask that you visit us shortly, for we could surely use your aid in training the green boys, and I must admit that I miss you dearly.”_

_Your Brother, Jon Snow._

His voice rings so clearly she can imagine him standing beside her already, his dark curls gone white with ice and a smile waiting just behind his eyes. She had rushed to write him back before Father had even finished giving his blessing, though Mother playfully complained that soon their great house would be far too empty with her children leaving all at once. Mr. Rodrick, Osha’s father and the Stark’s master-at-arms, would be accompanying her along with five men and enough horses between them to make the journey. Now- as she mounts a horse and tightens her dark coat to shield against the biting winds- all that remains is the feeling that as she makes her escape from the recent memories of Winterfell, she rides ever closer towards a new kind of trouble. 

~~~~~

“I’d recognize the Big Woman anywhere!” Tormund crows from where he waits outside the encampment. Though the temperature had dropped even further the closer they came to their journey’s end, her fiery-haired cousin stands with arms exposed, furs covering only his broad middle and thick pants to protect his legs. 

It seems that he pays no mind to the bone-deep cold, unlike Jon, who stands beside him looking far more content than he ever has before, in spite of the many extra layers he’s had to don. “It’s good to see you.” 

“I’ve missed you.” Brienne smiles and dismounts, running to pull her brother in a crushing embrace. 

“How have you and the others been? Sansa?” Jon asks quietly against her hair. 

“She’s...better. I’m better.” She assures him. “Have you received word from Arya?”

“Nothing. I have a friend in Braavos though, 'says she’s been trainin' outside the city.” 

Brienne nods and steps away. “I hope she’s being safe.”

“She’s our sister, I doubt it.” Jon shakes his head wistfully. 

“You’re right, of course...Come on then, take us somewhere out of this snow before my men freeze.” Brienne tosses a look behind her towards the men of Winterfell who are already eyeing the many warm tents and pretty women strolling about. They might want to be careful, she thinks, if the heavy knives hanging from those pretty women’s pants are anything to go by. 

Jon asks a few nearby wildlings to show them to their beds, all but Brienne, who trails after Tormund and Jon towards their own tent in the center of the camp. She takes it all in; the strange sights and sounds of it all. There doesn’t seem to be much order to them like the troops she’s seen pass through Winterfell before. People seem to fight, fuck, and eat all in the span of the same minute. Passing one fire, she even witnesses a woman strike a man who lays hand on her, leaving him grinning and bloody, with no one minding one bit. 

Brienne can’t decide how she feels about it, the _freedom_ of it all. She would feel much more comfortable if there were a few rules in place, something to keep them from acting like-like animals. Jon catches her staring and laughs as if he knows exactly what’s on her mind. 

_These are his people now._

She straightens and offers him a small smile. These aren’t her lands to judge. Besides, if they had been Westerosi, she would be mocked simply for her presence. Here in the True North, as they call it, no one they pass seems bothered. If anything, the looks she receives make her blush in embarrassment. Men and women alike give her appreciative nods, taking in her large figure with excited eyes. 

A wide man rushes to catch them before the trio can make it into the tent, whispering something to Tormund that brings a sneer to his face. He nods once but doesn’t seem any more pleased at whatever news this man has brought them. “The High Cunt asks that we dine with him tonight. All three of us.”

“I’m sorry, who?” Brienne asks.

“Your Southern boy’s daddy- Tywin Lannister. His camp's only a mile west of here.” 

_Lannister._

Brienne has spent the past three months trying to forget that that name exists and with one mention of it, all her efforts are undone. Tucked away thoughts of golden locks and piercing eyes swirl behind her lids and for one awful second, she thinks she might be sick. 

“Which Southern boy is supposed to be yours, then? Surely not Tyrion, I know Sansa had her heart set on him, but...Brienne...” Jon asks with a look of slow realization. 

“You’re lucky you can fight like a god for all the brains they left out.” Tormund shakes his head and presses a kiss to his temple. “You and I should be thankful she hates him less than she loves him.” 

Jon looks as if he’s considering murder, every bit their father’s son with his clenched jaw and dark eyes burning. He opens his mouth as if to question her further but she raises a hand quickly to stop him. “I don’t wish to speak of it. He barely recognized my existence, which is hardly surprising, and even if he had, it would mean nothing to me anymore. Leave it be, Jon, please.”

He desperately wants to argue, but bows his head reluctantly and storms from the tent. 

“Don’t you worry, I’ll go keep the pretty wolf from hunting down your boy.” Tormund winks and follows after his husband.

~~~~~ 

Tywin Lannister is not pleased. 

That much is clear from the moment they’re ushered into his lavish commander’s tent. He coldly assess each of them in the same way one would assess an enemy before battle, with an empty smile and calculating eyes. 

Familiar eyes. 

“I’m honored that you could join me this evening.” He bows his head and gestures for them to take their seats. 

“We’re honored to be here.” Jon speaks up as neither Tormund nor Brienne seem too eager to reply- or, he knows that given enough silence, Tormund might decide to say what they’re all thinking. 

_What does he want?_

Tywin ignores him either way, too busy taking in Brienne’s unconventional appearance. Now that Mother allows her to carry a sword, she had decided against a riding gown. Instead, she borrowed guard’s wear from a man of similar stature. Pale grey riding trousers that sit high on her waist, a tucked in linen shirt hidden beneath layers of strong, Stark leathers, and the coat of furs Sansa made for her two winters passed. Though she may receive even more stares than before further South, at least now she can move comfortably. 

“Ah, my son.” The man’s attention is thankfully directed away towards his new guests. 

“Sons.” Tyrion counters lazily.

_Sons._

She can’t move. Brienne can feel the weight of his gaze on her back but the idea of having to face him now, with people watching, has her struggling to take in air. 

“We didn’t know you’d be here.” Jon says coldly from behind her. 

Jaime laughs then- not his real laugh- the one he uses when he’s playing at being friends. It reminds her that she hates him, with all his arrogance and lies. How he must delight in the chance to once again make fun at her family’s expense. 

Anger gives her the strength she needs to compose herself well enough to finally turn around, and when she does, it takes all of that strength to stay in her seat. He has no right- no right to look as pained as she feels. 

“Brienne.” He breathes out. 

~~~~~

[ JAIME ]

She says nothing. 

Those clear, sapphire eyes burn with enough fury to send him reeling, if only for a moment, before he watches as all the strength drains from her body, and she looks away once more. 

Jaime could almost fall to his knees with the ache it sends, seeing her despise him. 

Many hate him, it’s something he’d grown accustomed to from the moment he was born a Lannister. Cursed to forever be distrusted and loathed as his family’s ambition grew, growing with it their long list of enemies. But from Brienne- from Brienne, who saw the man he was, not the name he spent years trying to be- her hate is more painful than any blade’s edge. Watching this stubborn, loud, honorable woman lose her faith right before her eyes is punishment enough. 

_And Gods, what is she wearing?_

The thought breaks through his cloud of self-pity, as he realizes some brave fellow had finally outfitted her for fighting. She even wears a sword strapped to her waist, though the metal has certainly seen better days. 

“I admit I had forgotten you’ve met our guests before.” Tywin waves in the remaining three guests behind he and Tyrion; two gentlemen and a girl who is the sister of the handsome, curly-haired man to the far right. The other on the left is older, with slicked back hair and a walk that says he’s amused by the world. “As my sons are too rude to introduce you, this is Mr. Snow’s younger sister, Miss Brienne Stark. She will be joining us for a short time this winter. Miss Stark; Mr. Loras Tyrell, his sister Miss Margaery Tyrell, and my...younger son’s guard, Mr. Bronn Blackwater.” 

“Pleasure’s mine.” Bronn crosses over to kiss the back of the lady’s hand and winks at the small, disgruntled noise that Jaime attempts to suppress in response. 

Mr. Blackwater has a knack for knowing exactly how to annoy him best. He had only hoped to be slightly less obvious with his pining, but it seems fortune was not with him if Mr. Blackwater sensed it within minutes of their parties meeting. 

He’ll never hear the end of it now. 

“I...yes, thank you, sir.” Brienne bows uneasily. 

Much as he’d like to continue sulking like a scolded child, his father’s words finally sink in. 

_She’s to be here all winter._

It’s a strangely comforting thought; even if she does hate him, he’ll have plenty of time to try and change her mind. Or at least, so long as her stormy-faced elder brother stops staring at him like a wolf stalking an injured deer. It must be said of the Stark family that when one is slighted, the others are quick to defend. 

Perhaps he’ll give that particular Stark a wide berth. 

~~~~~

“How are you liking it this far North, Miss Brienne?”’ Miss Margaery asks politely. 

“Perhaps I should be asking you, ma’am. I hear it is far warmer in Highgarden.” She offers the other woman a tentative smile which is quickly returned. 

“I suppose you’re right, Winterfell isn’t nearly so far away from here as our home, I suspect you’re much more prepared for the ice and snow than we are. I dare say my brother might catch the death of him if he continues to refuse a thicker coat.” Margaery teases Loras, who lets out a playfully exasperated noise. 

Dinner hasn’t been as disastrous as Jaime feared. 

True, Brienne has refused to meet his gaze since their initial meeting and her brother has done nothing _but_ look at him, glaring through each of the first courses. But there’s been no shouting as of yet, and Tyrion seems to be having a magnificent time while attempting to ease father’s burden of a heavy wine supply. 

Bronn and Mr. Giantsbane both seem to be having a splendid evening as well, their stories growing louder and more fanciful the longer the night goes on, only encouraged by a now very drunk Tyrion, who had taken to the wildling leader almost immediately. 

“I am warm enough in my own clothes, Margaery, and had I wanted anything more, I would have brought along a tailor.” Loras replies hottly. 

“He’s only upset because the furs here aren’t made of flowers or embroidered with silver. My brother won’t risk his reputation of being the prettiest flower in the South just to keep all of his fingers.” The smaller woman has a laugh like tinkling bells- a lady’s laugh. But it’s Brienne’s laughter that fills his belly with more warmth than winter stew. A hardy, braying thing that pours from her lips as free and unashamedly as everything else about her. 

He’s always wondered at what it must be like to allow yourself to simply be; what it would feel like to be unburdened by the ideas of others. 

“Ah- soon you will take my place, little sister, once the people see you in that lovely wedding dress Grandmother had made. It cost our father a quarter of a year’s sum alone.” 

Loras had surely meant it as another jab at Margaery, but the table falls silent around him. Most of the Lannister party turns uncomfortable in their seats, including the girl in question, who sets down her cutlery to fold her hands over her lap. 

Jaime doesn’t dare to look, doesn’t dare to breath. He had been so distracted by Brienne’s sudden appearance that he forgot all together that she wouldn’t have heard. 

“I hadn’t the fortune of hearing of your engagement, Miss Margaery...may the Seven bless your union.” Her voice never wavers, though she must know. She must see it on the faces around her before she even asks. “And the lucky gentleman?”

“Why, my son, Jaime. Their marriage will symbolize our families alliance through this coming war.” Tywin Lannister is a cunning, cruel man. Though he may not know the extent of Jaime’s feelings for Brienne, Cersei had been quick to tell him of Sansa Stark’s feelings for their brother, of Arya’s for poor Gendry. 

Though her sisters’ motives have right to be questioned, this news is meant to hurt. Meant to show the Starks how little their name means to families like the Lannisters or Tyrells. 

But Brienne Stark is not a woman who can be easily cowed, especially not by men like his father. 

She smiles. 

It’s a soft, fragile thing, but she smiles and nods her head as expected of a proper lady. “How wonderful that must be for you, Mr. Lannister, to see your child married. And for you, Mr. Jaime, to find such a beautiful bride.”

He could almost laugh at the sour look on Tywin’s face. The older man had clearly expected a different response, but Jaime suspects there’s no force on this earth that could bring Brienne to yield, much less a truth that crushes even Jaime’s heart.

Perhaps she’ll always hate him now- she has the right- but at least as he loses her completely, Jaime gets to watch as the woman he loves holds her own against a man who’s never lost. 

_The woman he loves._ Gods, he feels pleasantly heavy at the thought, nearly drunk with it for how quickly is sends him spinning. His bones turn to gold and his arms suddenly ache to wrap around her ridiculously large form, to pull her against his chest and keep her there until the rest of the world melts away. Jaime longs to press a kiss to each of the freckles dusting her cheeks until she’s well and truly pink from embarrassment, and even then, he wouldn’t stop until he’d found every last one. 

He could spend a lifetime trying to memorize every inch of her and it wouldn’t be enough. 

Jaime has been wanted by many women before, and all have been turned away, none of them ever quite meeting the impossible expectations his father set. And now stands a woman that defies any expectation willingly and without apology. Brienne can fight better than any man he’s ever met, it’s true. She would also die before letting harm come to anyone she loves. Jaime’s never seen someone so selfless, at least not a Lannister. 

She’s more than he deserves and yet he left her all the same, it’s only fitting that he spend the rest of his life paying back that debt.

“You’re too kind, Miss Stark.” Margaery thanks her quietly, eager to break the silence that had crept around them. It forces him back into the room and away from thoughts best buried and forgotten. 

~~~~~

The rest of the dinner is awkward to say the least, though the two women at the table become fast friends, in spite of the circumstances. 

Finally, after the last plates are swept from the table and the bottles run dry, they’re allowed to take their leave. 

“It was marvelous to meet you all, truly. You must help me convince your sister to lend me her company tomorrow, Mr. Snow, for I’m afraid I’ve grown rather tired of my brother.” Margaery raises one perfect eyebrow and curtsies in farewell at the edge of the tent. Loras is close behind, bowing shortly to each of them before taking her offered arm and escorting her away.

“Well, I’ve got one or two people missin’ my company as well, and I’d hate to keep ‘em waitin’.” Bronn winks and staggers out of his chair, not even bothering with a proper goodbye before slipping out of the tent and into the snow. 

“If I may have your leave, I’d prefer to return to camp now. Alone. The moon is full and bright enough to light my way; I would like to see your new home in all of its glory.” Brienne says firmly, leaving no room for argument. “And before you try to convince me otherwise, Jon, might I remind you that I can defend myself perfectly well.”

“...I know better than to try and change your mind once its been set.” Mr. Snow huffs out a laugh and claps her shoulder gently. “But please try to be careful, for my sake.” 

“You would allow your sister to ride through the night alone, exposed to the wilderness?” Tywin asks incredulously. 

“I don’t allow my sister anythin’, she can make choices for herself. And besides, she can wield a sword as good as any man-” He pointedly stares Jaime down. “-Better than most.”

Jaime has a sinking feeling that avoiding Jon Snow is not an option.

~~~~~

Cold winds ruffle the fur around his neck, biting into any flesh he hadn’t managed to cover all the way. Every footprint he leaves disappears just as quickly, layers of previous snow falling into the indentions as naturally as the tides of Casterly Rock bringing in its lost treasures of sand and seashells only to toss them into the small pools along the shore. The irony isn’t lost on him, even tired as he is. The similarities between his home and these wildling lands are far and few between, and they grow even fewer the harder he tries to name them. 

The night has been too long already. 

Wounded blue eyes haunt him, his name on her lips; _Mr. Jaime_ , she had called him. 

It meant nothing to the others, but they both knew she slipped. They both knew she hadn’t meant to say his name. Brienne has never said his name before, only ever Lannister.

His name on her lips sounded holy. 

When Jaime was very young, before Tyrion was born, he would pray. Their mother believed in the Seven and she had shown him how to light the candles, how to kneel and ask for blessings and how to give thanks. After she died, father would have no part in it, and doing it without her beside him felt empty- meaningless. 

Now he had found a new meaning, even if it only lasted but for a moment. 

“I imagine you’re eager to get back to your warm feather bed right about now.” An edged voice calls from close behind him. “But I have words for you, Lannister.” 

Jaime’s eyes flicker shut tiredly before he forces them open once more and turns to face the man with a practiced smile. “Mr. Snow! We haven’t seen each other in such a long time, I was beginning to miss you.” 

“You need to leave. Run back to your warm, Southern home just like you did before.”

“Really? Skipping right past the pleasantries are we? My, what would your mother say about your poor manners?” Jaime mocks lightly, hand already twitching towards the blade on his side.  
Jon notices the movement and closes the remaining distance between them faster than he could have anticipated, grabbing his wrist as he attempts to unsheathe the sword and forcing it back until he drops it with a grunt. His free arm is blocked and seized tightly, and before Jaime can do more than turn a shoulder to try and shove him away, the younger man slams his head forward and sends him falling to the ground, allowing him use of his arms again as Jaime clutches at his now broken nose. 

Though it hurts like hell, Jaime can’t help in his daze but be reminded of the last person to headbutt him; it seems to be a family skill. 

Jon doesn’t draw his own weapon or storm away. Instead, he crouches low and grabs Jaime by the tunic to drag him close once more. “You listen to me, Jaime Lannister. The only reason I’m not runnin’ you through right now is ‘cause it might hurt her more than you did. But I promise you this; the day you speak to Brienne again without her permission is the day I take your sword hand.”

“You listen to me, _Jon Snow_.” Jaime turns his head carefully and spits out some of the blood that had run into his mouth. “The only reason I’m on the ground is because I let you put me here and the day you decide to cut off my hand for her honor, I’ll be the one handing you the blade.” 

The young wolf scrutinizes him for a long, drawn out minute before letting go roughly. He steps away as if to leave but stops himself once more, his voice as hard as the ice beneath them. “Why did you let me do it then?”

“...Because I deserve it.” Jaime admits hoarsely. 

Jon shakes his head slowly and the look that flits between them is more honest than he can bear. “No, Lannister...you deserve worse.”


End file.
